


Star Wars: Desolation

by SithPriestess



Series: Desolation [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Erotica, F/F, F/M, Grimdark, Jedi, Non-Consensual, Seduction to the Dark Side, Sith, Sith Shenanigans, Slavery, sorrynotsorry, unapologeticallyevil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 45,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9670853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SithPriestess/pseuds/SithPriestess
Summary: It is a dark time for the Republic.The forces of Lord Revan press ever harder against the sagging defenses of the Republic.Out in the mysterious Gray Band, a nigh-abandoned patchwork of worlds in the Outer Rim, a Padawan follows the trail of the mysterious Darth Ullan, who may be her former master...





	1. Padawan Denara

**Author's Note:**

> Co-Written with my RP partner Chromewidth
> 
> Trigger warnings... kind of a lot of things. I will go ahead and say that there is absolutely no underage in this story, I don't have a lot of limits but that is my #1 I will never write.
> 
> This was all done as an RP over the course of several months and I'm basically taking all the OOG nonsense out and making it nice to read. It's dark, I'm not apologizing. It's about a Sith Lord turning a Jedi Padawan into his slave and then making her his apprentice. He has other slaves and she slowly turns into more and more of a monster while keeping vital parts of herself that I think make this a really interesting story. 
> 
> This whole thing is already written obviously and I'm just compiling it into a readable format. It was a great deal of fun to play out and I think some people might find it fun to read. It is incredibly long. I mean really, really long. Probably a few hundred thousand words. I'm not really expecting many people to read this, I mean it's dark and the Sith are... well they're Sith. Darth Ullan is a huge bastard and he turns everyone around him into monsters for fun and profit. If you're into entertaining bad guys, we've got you covered though. They are un-apologetically evil and occasionally over the top. 
> 
> Here's the premise we started off with:
> 
> Iocina's Master, Yuld Rens, joined Revan and Alek when they went to fight the Mandalorians and subsequently fell to the dark side and became a Sith alongside them. He'd left her behind because she wasn't ready to go off on her own with him, being a bit fragile and having a gift of projective empathy that could make her a bit dangerous but nothing anywhere close to something like battle meditation. She became a bit obsessed with finding Rens because the council at the time and Vrook in particular were kind of assholes and shamed her for the attachment and suspected Rens of having corrupted her all along. 
> 
> So I hope that anyone who reads this enjoys it, if it offends you then why did you keep reading it when you were warned?

Vilargo barely existed on any map. That there was any population on the world at all was a testimony both to the persistence of life in hostile environments as well as the desperation that drove some beings to the very survivable fringes of existence. The local day took over fifty standard days to complete, turning life outside the cities into a barely-survivable ordeal of heat and suffering, while the long night brought icy misery to anything foolish enough to be out and moving.

Radiation from the collapsed white star sheeted into the world, afforded no protection by its dead core or depleted atmosphere. The cities were ray-shielded, a continuous dreary dome over each little scrap of civilization. The planet's solitary starport was little more than a huge dirt field at the edge of one such shield, a control tower sitting at its center, the few regular vessels and preferred acquaintances of local power having the privilege of the paved landing zones and walkways.

Iocina Denara sat in the cockpit of her stolen ship and let out a shaky breath. She'd been surprised, and gratified, that control had not questioned the credentials she'd found in the computer. They hadn't even asked for her name, just the ship's ID number. She went through a system check for a third time and knew she had to go into the settlement. She'd come this far, how pathetic would she be if she ran home now? She climbed down from the cockpit of the little courier vessel and walked stiffly towards the handful of huddled buildings that were the above ground part of the settlement. She was certain this was only a starting point. If her Master had been here there was a chance she'd sense something from him, some bit of emotion or memory left behind. She carefully controlled her breathing and cast out with her mind, spreading her thoughts through the air like a net to catch on a trace of a familiar thought.

What came back to her was a sibilant whisper in the Force, a subtle effect that was almost magnetic in nature. Not her master, not that familiar sense of warmth and connection. This was something else, almost a hunger, and it seemed to flow from the very bedrock of the planet. A trio of 'customs officials' were waiting for her below, a human male accompanied by a scarred Gammorean and a Rodian, the pair of aliens armed and obviously the muscle of the group.

The man himself might have been handsome, once, but a crosshatched pattern of scars puckered the side of his face, one eye a milky haze, his lip perpetually curled against tightened skin. He folded his arms across his chest and looked her over, not quite a leer but it did not take a Force sensitive to know what crossed his mind as he stared at her.

"Docking fee, hundred and fifty credits. Or..." his eye roamed over her again "we could knock it down for, y'know, barter."

The eerie feeling in the force swept over her, tangling in her hair and seemed to ring in her ears discordantly. The desolate landscape suddenly felt claustrophobic instead of sprawling. And the beings waiting for her at the gate separating the landing strip from the buildings didn't help. All three stared at her, making her feel small and grubby and not at all as confident as she’d felt before she’d come out of hyperspace.

At the look on the human's face she fought to keep from grimacing and only partially succeeded. She knew, intellectually, that she was attractive. Her skin was a light creamy brown, her hair black and curly, her eyes dark. She'd seen some holo novels and she was maybe as pretty as them, but it had never mattered. No one had ever looked at her like that, and she had to pretend she wasn't uncomfortable. She could sense he'd like that, he'd love to make her squirm.

She handed over her credit chip to be scanned, knowing that it wouldn’t take long for the location of the withdrawal to show up as a deficit in the temple’s funds. She gave him the blankest look she could muster, doing her best impression of inscrutable stranger. The truth was, she was worried, for all she knew the chip could have been deactivated already. She hoped not, even if they knew she had it, they might leave it connected so she'd be able to come home when she realized her folly. All she could do was wait to find out.

He slotted the chip with a frown, disappointment radiating from him that she apparently could readily pay. "Right," he muttered. "Y'know, for an extra fee we could make sure nothing happens to your ship. Pretty rough town, Galbur. Pretty girl like you could use somebody watching out for her. Ain't that right?"

The Gammorean grunted dumb assent, while the Rodian simply stared at her with its fixed, implacable gaze, hand never traveling far from the blaster strapped to his hip.

"You want, I could show you around," the man said, his spirits returning as he warmed to his new pitch. "Make sure that nobody bothers you. Nobody gives us any trouble around these parts, because we're the law." The statement was perhaps not as reassuring as he might have thought it was.

She bit the tip of her tongue, not just to keep sharp words in her mouth, but to remind herself she wasn't really in the republic anymore. Sure, somewhere there were probably taxes being paid to some government official, but it was probably true that these people were the law. She was torn between two ways she could play this. Tell them she was only going to be there a day or so while pretending she knew what she was doing, or play dumb and let them think she was just a silly girl. Both of those weren't very good, but they were all she had. Her third option was not an option: Play along with whatever nasty games he'd want to play to see if he had information she needed. Nope, no third option.

Sweat trickled down her spine. She didn't actually know what she was doing, so dumb it was. She hated herself as she widened her eyes and looked up at the human through her lashes. Looking small and vulnerable was easy anyway, she was short for a human and her head came to somewhere around mid-bicep on the tall man. She held her hand out for the credit chip and pretended to fumble it into her belt pouch. She raised the pitch of her voice a bit, "So you know a safe place to stay a couple of nights then? I'm supposed to deliver a message but all I know is he was here, he might have gone already." She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back onto her heels. She made herself keep looking up into his face with what she hoped was a silly female expression and didn't glance at the two who would have no inclination to her species. She hoped her didn't think she was flirting, 'please don't think I'm flirting,' she thought.

"I could take you to the safest place in the city, if you like," he grinned. Whether or not he thought she was flirting, he was definitely fully engaged now. "Then we can look for this friend of yours. What's his name?"

The flare of a newly arriving ship drew his attention. "Damn it!" he swore, looking at his companions. "Two ships? In a day? It's the war, I tell ya. Time was, we'd see two a month, tops."

He looked back at her. "Much as I'd love to continue talking to you, sweetheart, I am a government official and I got to go make sure these people pay their fees. Tell you what, though, you go to Izzi Novus and tell them that Marto said to give you one of the good rooms."

He fired a wink at her with his good eye. "I'll come by later to check on ya, make sure you're settled in and then we can go find your friend, hey?"

Relief suffused her as she plastered a smile on her face, "Oh that sounds great, thanks so much!" she hoped she didn't sound too effusive and winced inwardly. He seemed to have a jauntier air about him as he went to greet the new arrival.

She scuttled into the street beyond the gate and pressed herself against a smooth plasteel wall out of sight of her admirer. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and remembered how to breath properly. The building she leaned against was all of a piece with the rest of the street, nearly identical to its neighbors as they were to the ones across the way. She glanced up at the top of corner and saw tiny numbers laser carved into both walls. Prefabs, shipped here and put together by droids. According to what she'd read in the report she filched the underground part of town was twice as large as what she could see here. There were only two taller buildings, the control tower, and a building that passed for opulence compared to everything else.

As much as she didn't want to encourage what his name she only had the name of one place to stay and she had to start her search somewhere. She couldn't sense her Master here, and refused to listen to the logical part of her mind that said 'You don't even know if it's him. This Darth Ullan just looks like him.' she also didn't want to think about the fact that even if her Master was here, he'd joined the Sith.

Izzi Novus wasn't the dive she'd thought it would be, and it didn't look like a brothel like she'd feared either. It looked like any other hotel and cantina she'd seen, although she hadn't seen many to begin with. She didn't mention Marto, and she didn't ask for a nicer room. She did ask for some food to take up with her though.

She set her lone bag on the ground and ate standing as there was no table, nor chair, and crumbs attracted vermin. She didn't want to think about the kind of vermin that might be in this place, and especially didn't want to think about it crawling into her bed. She slipped into the fresher and washed her hands, then carefully locked the door. and dropped into bed. She wasn't tired, really, but she slept without meaning to.

 

***

AD-4K0 received the signals and passed them along its network of being. Transfer was ready as soon as the package could be extracted.

With the infinite patience of a machine, it continuously monitored the process of removing the package from its long-held containment. It was a delicate matter, the shielding of the priceless relic powered by geothermal vents providing an endless supply of energy. The trickiest part would be transferring the arcane shielding technology to its new power source.

Mechanical arms carefully functioned, loosening fasteners, transferring cables. AD-4K0 monitored the activity of hundreds of servo arms as they maneuvered around the container and its shielding system. The container itself was no bigger than a meter across, while the shielding system took up the better part of a room, and the power systems extended multiple stories down into the ground.

Unbeknownst to the hyper-vigilant droid, one of the servo arms had developed a series of faults between its actuators and diagnostics. Each rotation it gave to one small fastener was a fractional amount longer than ordered, creating the smallest of gaps.

And through that gap, the hunger of the Devourer flowed.

***

When Iocina woke she felt an aching sense of emptiness inside. She wasn't sure if that had woken her, or some sound from below, but she felt more tired than she'd been when she'd lay down. She was hungry, her stomach felt hollow as though she hadn't eaten in days. She sat up, head swimming.

The creeping force presence she'd felt when she'd arrived had never left her, but now it seemed to be a continual whisper against her shields. According to the chrono, she'd only slept an hour. That can't be right, can it? she swept a hand through her tangled hair. The empty container of food she'd pitched into the garbage was still there, she forced her body to crawl out of the bed and uncrumple it and smell the inside of the bag. It didn't smell rotting, it smelled exactly the same as before. In fact her stomach growled at the thought of more food.

Pressing a hand over her belly, she frowned harshly, physically there was no reason to feel this way. She'd eaten more than a healthy amount of food, she'd practically stuffed herself. She crawled back into the bed and curled there, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead and prickling along her scalp.

An odd feeling swept down her temples and she realized she was crying, big hot tears welling up and spilling onto the pillow on either side of her head. What was wrong with her? A deep well of emptiness opened inside of her. Worse than the feeling of physical hunger was soul deep wound of loss. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched her, except to correct her stance for a kata or a light shoulder touch to get her attention. No, wait. She could remember the last time. Her Master had gently touched her face, wiped away a tear as he promised he'd come home when the war was over. When Mandalore was defeated. But he'd lied. He'd left her and hadn't come back. Hadn't even wanted to. She'd have known if he was dead, the training bond was still there. It was a tiny fraying thread but it wasn't broken. She turned on her side and clutched her stomach and wept like a child.

A moment later the Force shot through her like a bolt of lightning, sending a flash of vision through her.

In the shadows of the traffic control building, a Gammorean hovered in the air, hands scrabbling at its throat. The Rodian lay on the ground, a neat slash cut in his skull, the tip of a crimson lightsaber resting against the cauterized remnants. Small, unconscious movements of the wielder brought the blade into contact with the skull, sizzling solid matter into organic steam with each light touch.

The customs officer was kneeling on the ground, hands clasped in supplication.

“I didn't know who she was!”

The lightsaber twitched again, sending a fresh cloud of vapor into the air.

“I didn't know who she was, master!,” the man cried out piteously.

The figure with the lightsaber was obscured from her vision, clad in a dark robe and hood. A gloved hand wielded the blade, but the other arm was exposed, metallic and chromed, unlike any other cybernetic she'd ever seen before. It was segmented into plates that looked as though they could be detached from each other, and the motion of the arm set them rippling in a complex, interlocked pattern.

“You were given the description, the figure rasped out in a guttural voice. And you failed to inform me immediately, because your first thought was lust.”

The lightsaber traced a sizzling line along the dead Rodian's body. “As if an insect like you would be worthy of a force-wielder. You” the lightsaber whisked forward to hover directly beneath the man's face, “should count yourself blessed to be allowed to exist in our galaxy.”

The man cried out and attempted to squirm back from the blade, whimpering as it followed him, hovering before his good eye.

“I do, master! I do!”

“When she comes for you, insect, tell her I'm waiting. We will see what she's learned. We will see if she is... worthy.”

Iocina gasped for air, back arching until only her shoulders and feet touched the bed in a violent seizure. She dropped to the bed with a thump, wind sucked from her lungs. She coughed and wheezed as though she'd fallen from a height and the wind had been knocked out of her. As soon as she could draw breath she began to sob.

"What the hell was that?!" she gasped out between whimpers she couldn't hold back. She'd seen men with wounds, on the holo feeds about the war. Some had even been Jedi sent to the temple to recover. But she'd never seen a lightsaber wound that had been inflicted purposely to cause pain and death. Had she seen the future? Was this going to happen if she didn't stop it? She'd never had a clear vision before, her talent lay in the living force. She rolled out of the bed got to her feet. Her stomach ached with that same unfulfilled hunger and her head and heart pounded to the same empty rhythm as they had before. The slithering feeling in the Force was still testing her shields tugging her in the direction of the wastes beyond the safe area.

There wasn’t a curse word bad enough for this. "I'm so stupid, this was crazy, why did I come here?"

That she didn't want to go to the control tower was obvious, but if she could stop this, shouldn't she? The Sith had spoken of her, he was looking for her. She didn't like the customs man with his single leering eye and oozing manner, she didn't like his grungy little enforcers, but the universe was full of people she wouldn't like and it was still her duty to protect them.

Tucking her trousers into her boots, tightening the straps, she summoned her pack to rest on the bed. According to the time, she'd slept for an hour. It felt as though she hadn't slept in a week. In the hidden compartment beneath her extra clothes was her lightsaber. She tugged it out and ran her fingers over it solemnly. She rested her finger over a small dial locked into place just above the pommel, and a touch of the force pushed it down and turned it a full rotation to the left. The power level was on full now, when it had never been above the low level sting used in training.

Tucking it in the sheath she'd fashioned on the back of her belt, which she'd invented to keep the heavy weapon from bruising her thighs when she ran, she opened her door and clattered down the narrow emergency stairs.

As she moved, she could feel something, something new, a faint but familiar touch. Yuld Rens. Her master was somewhere nearby. Out into the light she stepped, the sun battering down on the shield above her head. Steam wisped up into the air off the heat exchange units that kept the city from baking. Around her, the residents went about their lives, utterly oblivious to her existence.

She stumbled as her feet touched the street, the familiar presence a whispering echo along the bond. "Master?" the word came out in a vulnerable whisper that she wanted to take back, didn't want such an important word to sound so weak. She shook herself out of the lethargy that still clung to her mind and sought above the rooftops to find the control tower. It drifted in and out through rainbow speckled mist seething between the buildings and the shield. As soon as she'd oriented herself she began to run.

Once inside she found the lower levels eerily deserted, a chair behind a desk overturned. The control panel for the turbo-lift crackled with electricity, the sharp smell of ozone biting the air. Force, is he here now, the Sith? He could be killing those men right now! she fought down the fear that made the back of her neck prickle and sprinted for the stairs, a touch of the Force speeding her steps as she launched herself up six stories. Each floor was as abandoned as the first.

She pulled her lightsaber free and rushed into the main room, igniting it as she cleared the door. A figure kneeling on the floor cringed away, scrabbling back and over the mutilated body of a Rodian to cower in a corner. It was the scarred Human from her vision. She whirled, glancing frantically around the room, but her eyes and the Force told her they were alone.

A change in the currents of the Force drew her to the window. There, beside her own stolen craft was the Sith. Did she imagine that he sensed her? That he looked up at her beneath his dark cowl?

She turned away towards the door, trying to convince herself that she'd make it to the landing pad in time.

"He... he's waiting for you." A voice broken from screaming hissed from the corner and she whirled, she'd forgotten the man was behind her.

"I'm s'posed to tell you he's waiting. Wants to." He swallowed, a shudder running through him, "Test you." He shook his head in denial. "Don't go."

"I'm sorry." she whispered, leaving him with the bodies of his friends. The trip down the stairs was easier than the trip up, and the trip from the tower to the landing pad seemed only one short moment. She burst through the gate onto the landing pad.

The figure sat on the edge of the open cockpit, the two-seater a sleek design unfamiliar to her, bristling with weapons. The man himself remained maddeningly hidden in the robes. Perhaps the right build? Impossible to tell from the casual way he virtually slouched. He suddenly hopped down.

"Iocina," he said. "The slow one."

Her feelings were conflicted, utterly muddy. She could sense the faintest whisper of her master's presence, but it was drowning in what suddenly seemed to be a rising tide of darkness.

"You may kneel now and save yourself a great deal of suffering," he said.

Metal glinted beneath the hood, some sort of mask or rebreather?

She flinched back, a yawning pit deeper than the hunger burning inside her opened up and threatened to swallow her. If this truly was Yuld Rens she'd made a terrible mistake. Possibly a fatal one. Her lightsaber felt like a durasteel weight, and entirely useless. Could she use it? Call forth its green light and strike at this man? She knew the answer, she'd have done it by now. Damn.

She gripped it, as though she knew what she was doing, and took a stance somewhere between 'ready for combat' and 'see I'm not threatening you.' Her breath shuddered in her lungs as she drew a breath, "Who are you?"

"Darth Ullan, these days," he answered, his voice managing to somehow sound guttural and jaunty at the same time. "The name will do until I need a new one."

He stepped closer, still outside of lightsaber range but close enough that either of them could close the distance in a flash.

"And I am threatening you, little Padawan. Either lower yourself to the ground or defend yourself. Now."

She licked her lips, she wanted to ask if he was her master. But she had a cold feeling that she knew what he would say. Something along the lines of, 'I will be'. She kept the words bitten behind her teeth. As he stepped closer she stumbled back, completely off balance. She nearly ended up on her ass but barely recovered. Her eyes flashed up at him, and she knew they were full of fear. He hadn't even moved an inch, no hand reached out to grab her.

Her thumb hovered over the ignition switch, knowing she should at least make a show of fighting back. There were only two outcomes here, but only one was going to get her answers.

Fight, and die, and never know the truth.

Submit, and ask her questions.

The lightsaber slid from her numb fingers, never hitting the ground as the Sith drew it toward him and made it vanish beneath his cloak. He stood there waiting, as though he'd wait for days. He'd get annoyed with her in a moment.

The only thing kneeling would hurt was her pride. She slowly dropped down, not in a supplicating gesture that he'd probably prefer, but in meditative one. Her feet tucked beneath her and hands on her thighs. She could feel her black curls trembling against her cheeks as she waited.

He stared at her, a harsh sigh emanating from the hood. "So like a Jedi, attempting to resolve a conflict with meditation."

He clinched her lightsaber in his metallic fist and squeezed down, fingers crushing into the casing,then hurled the weapon away. His organic hand came up and pulled her into the air with the invisible hand of the Force. "I'm going to go face one of the larger menaces in the galaxy in a moment, so you have a very brief time to convince me to let you love. The options here are simple: either put up enough of a fight to perhaps convince me that you could someday be useful, or surrender yourself completely enough to be amusing. Like a pet or a toy."

He dumped her back on the ground abruptly, sending her onto the pavement directly and painfully on her tail bone. "And since you lost your weapon, I'll even let you borrow mine."

He tossed his lightsaber at her, the throw casual, but precisely aimed to hit her forehead if she didn't catch it.

She ducked to one side, hand snapping up to grab the hilt as she turned into a half roll. Scrambling to her feet, she searched the hilt for the activator by touch not having the luxury to examine it visually. She kept her eyes on him as she ignited the blade.

The thrum of the weapon under her fingers was unfamiliar, and the size and weight of it was much heavier than her own, but she'd have to make it work somehow. Her mind felt clearer, more focused. She had to ignore the panicky pulse hammering in her chest, and slowed her breathing. She could do this.

Settling herself into the Shien stance, with the blade pointed to the back, she struck.

 

His body remained loose and relaxed until the strike was flashing toward him. At the last second his metallic arm flew up, intercepting the blade in a shower of sparks. The dull metal turned the blade aside as he guided it toward the ground, leaping as it hissed toward his legs. He back flipped away from her, lighting on the wing of his craft.

"Better. If I hadn't deflected, you would have killed me," he said. "But you knew I wouldn't let you hit me, so I still don't know if you're really trying."

"I am trying." she said flatly, just barely above a whisper, more to convince herself than anything else.

She looked up at him and fought to keep calm. She found herself analyzing how he moved, the tilt of his head when he spoke, anything that might give her a clue if this truly was her Master. She wasn't sure whether she wanted him to be or not. She had no good plans now, none that weren't ridiculous anyway. Somehow she didn't think asking politely if he'd no use the dark side anymore would do any good. She drew deeply upon the Force and leaped, not nearly as high as he had, but enough to slash at his knees. She looked up into the hood of his cloak and gave a push with the Force, attempting to unbalance him and knock him from wing. Using the momentum of her drop to the ground she rolled and spun, blade held now in a front grip.

As she leapt he whirled away, deflecting her force push with expert ease.

He dropped down to the other side of the wing, standing a few feet away from her. He extended his metal arm and the segmented plates began to ripple, peeling away and leaving a mechanical skeleton behind. The detached plates swirled through the air, surrounding him with a cloud of fast-moving metal, swirling like a cloud.

"Strike without anger, strike without fear, strike with the composed whole of your being," he taunted her, speaking the words Rens had said to her more than once. "Weak Jedi prattle."

Her calm mask cracked, "Why are you doing this? Why would you say that to me?!" The pain in her voice felt like brittle glass, and she felt the first stirring of anger. He'd worked on her anger for years, teaching her to meditate and release it to the peace of the light.

It was pathetic how his words made her lose her last shred of confidence. She was hurting, and now a little part of her wanted him to hurt too. The flash and tiny metallic ping and scrape of those metal and cortosis plates was distracting, but she searched for an opening to attack.

"You're," she swallowed that down, "You were the most important person in my world and you didn't even take me with you!" she shouted words she'd kept buried inside, unable to give up that attachment and the futile hope that one day he'd come home.

"I just wanted to see you one more time." she whispered, running forward and using a flurry of quick strikes meant to knock enough of the plates away to get at him. The cortosis weave of the bits deflecting the heat throughout the pieces to keep the whole, the only thing she could hope for was to knock enough of them off course that he might not recover all the ones that went awry.

"I was the most important person in your world?" he said mockingly. "Child, you do not even know me!"

As she battered her way through the plates, the ones she knocked away suddenly began whirling back toward her, moving with carefully measured speed, enough to cut and bruise, but not enough to kill. They came at her from every angle, above, below, and behind.

"Kriff you!" she screamed, fighting to keep her balance. She fought to free herself from the onslaught with little success. Her concentration was shattered, and for every handful of plates she pushed away from her the rest moved behind to attack her vulnerable sides.

She hissed as an edge sliced through the fabric and thin flesh at the back of a knee and another made a bruising impact to one cheekbone. She felt these as part of a whole body beating of the sort she'd never experienced in training. It was all she could do to stand upright and and it was humiliating. She wanted to scream at him to stop, but couldn't yet bear the thought of admitting to even more weakness.

Hot angry tears burned tracks down her face.

He darted around the tip of his lightsaber as she wavered. "Focus," he growled. "Don't his from your anger, user it! Kill me if you can!"

She reacted blindly, blood from cuts in her scalp running into her eyes to mix with tears, rage blossoming in the little corner of her being that she always strove to keep in check. She drew her arm back and thrust violently outward, the Force sending a wave of plates towards their originator, and followed with the blade.

He whirled away, deflecting most of the metal, but not all of it. One piece tore the hood back from his head, cutting a bloody furrow through shock-white hair, so different from Rens' dark brown hair. He wore a full face mask, Mandalorian, much like the one Revan had taken to wearing early in the war.

"Better!" he said, turning away from the thrust of the blade. As he completed the turn his metal arm lashed out, naked servos whirring as his hand caught her arm above her wrist, locking out the arm that held his lightsaber. A flick of his other hand sent a concentrated punch of the Force directly into her gut.

"Enough play," he said.

She gasped, vision going gray as she doubled over. Fighting down the urge to vomit she surged forward, using his grip on her wrist to shove inside his guard. She brought a knee up aiming between his legs. She didn't realize she was cursing him over and over as she struggled.

He twisted just enough to take the impact on her thigh. "Feisty!" he said. His wrist snapped once more, then again and again. Each flick was a fresh battering impact against her body. Her face, her lower back, her knee.

"You've bought your life," he said. His had the slightest note of exertion, as if she had made him work, at least a little. "Now surrender."

Her legs collapsed under her, and she fell to her knees, lightsaber winking out and clattering to the ground beside her. It was all she could do to stay sitting upright and breathing, when she wanted to curl into a ball of pain and rage.

She managed to prop herself up on a hand but didn't try to rise, surrender was about all she could handle at this point and she well knew it. Her thoughts were bitter, a real Jedi would have kept fighting, would have died before being captured by a Sith. Right?

She looked up at him through a wave of sweat soaked hair and tried to find anything remotely familiar. She felt like something had cracked in her heart; she wasn't certain who this man was or whether he'd ever been known as Jedi Master Yuld Rens.

He summoned his lightsaber back to his organic hand, while the cortosis shards danced through the air, sliding back into place along his other arm.

"You never would have made it as a Jedi," he said, for the first time lacking the arrogant contempt with which he'd treated her previously. He continued on in the same matter-of-fact tone. "Best that you did come this way. Otherwise they would've simply expelled you from the Order, and eventually you would've been meat for the first real warrior you encountered. Now, at least, your life and death can have some actual meaning."

The lightsaber hummed to life once more in his hand, the emitter pointed directly at her face, the crimson light reaching its coherent limit a mere inch away from her. Curls of her hair that strayed too close to the blade sizzled away, leaving an acrid stench behind.

"I'll give you the choice here and now, and this is the last time I'll ever give you this choice: submit and serve me, or die on this blade."

He leaned forward slightly, hissing the words out. "Just push yourself forward and it will all be over."

His words cut. All the more because of the echo of truth in them, and the bone deep knowledge that she didn't want to die. She was a terrible Jedi. Something like an icy fist clenching her heart.

He’s right.

Was she tainted by her Master's failure? Were his teachings polluted? Was that why she'd never entirely found her center, or entered deep enough meditation to hear the voice of the light as she'd heard others speak of? Was that why no one had ever really trusted her, why they’d seemed afraid of some of the things she’d done as a child? Was that why Vrook had been so hard on her after Yuld had been declared fallen, why he’d seemed so cruel sometimes?

"I don't want to die." her voice was flat as she spoke, "I." She closed her eyes, feeling utterly wretched. After all, she'd have never made it as a Jedi. "I'll submit and," she hesitated only a brief moment, "I'll serve you."

The lightsaber snapped off with a hiss. "You have no idea how true that is. You will call me Master Ullan. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will stay two steps behind me unless otherwise directed."

He walked over and kicked her broken lightsaber. "This useless toy was no good to you anyway."

He crouched down, pried a fist-sized rock loose from the ground, then tossed it to her. "Until you earn something else, this is your weapon now. Rocks have killed more sentients than any other weapon in the galaxy, remember that. And where we're going, you'll listen to everything I tell you and do exactly what I tell you to if you want to live. Do you understand this, worm?"

She hefted the stone in her hand, whatever type of rock it was there was a density to it that made it heavier than it looked. Rocks had long predated sharpened sticks as weapons in the martial history of nearly all bipedal sentients, it was true. She closed her fist around it and tried to straighten her spine, cuts and bruises protesting every movement. Her body wanted to huddle, to crawl; she'd never been in the habit of letting her body call the shots.

"Yes, Master Ullan. I understand."

He turned on his heel and leapt back up to the cockpit, standing precariously balanced on the lip. "Most likely we're both going to our deaths here. Sending you to accompany me to almost certain death? The Force certainly has a sense of humor."

He dropped down into his seat. "Come on. I'll explain along the way."

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, proud that it didn't come out shaky. Right, small steps. She moved to the other side of the ship and climbed into the second seat. Die here, die there? If she was going to die anyway it ceased to matter.

He began to lower the canopy before she'd even finished climbing in, then engaged the repulsorlift before she could strap in, sending the ship gliding forward. "So how much did you learn about the previous Sith wars as a youngling?"

She shrugged into the shoulder straps and fastened them in place, avoiding looking at him by focusing on that task.

"A bit, although lately they haven't been so forthcoming as they were in the previous generation I think." she snorted slightly, and immediately wanted to take it back, but continued, "I think they assume if we don't know much about it, we won't be interested in it. But some of us think it just makes the younglings more curious about it."

She twisted a loose thread on a sleeve and winced, "Most of what I learned, I heard as a child. I'm sure it was a very watered down version of history, I doubt everything was as clean and neat as they'd tell children barely out of the creche. I'm sure it wasn't as, ah, black and white as we're told. Maybe even not what they tell the adults even."

"Not even close to black and white. The mess I'm going to clean up out here is a Jedi mess. The result of idiots trying to create super weapons."  
They were out of the shield and flying over the sun-blasted landscape now, the ground bare and parched. Occasionally the rusting, stripped skeleton of a ship or surface craft came into sight, a testimony to the desperation that anyone had to have to come to this forsaken world.

"What idiot end thought this world was worth colonizing?" he muttered.

"I didn't think to check why, perhaps there are natural resources. Or at least, there could have been at one point and people just stuck around after getting used to it." she started to shrug, and remembered how her Master had told her not to do that as a child. A shrug indicated you were ignorant of the subject, biting your lip showed weakness, looking away while speaking made you seem like a liar. It had been such a relatively short time since those lessons, and she was surprised how quickly she'd forgotten.

"That was a rhetorical question, worm. I don't care why they came here in the first place. The main concern we have is the Devourer and stopping it before it starts eating Force users."

Don't speak until spoken to. Right. She shut her mouth. She wanted to ask about this devourer but didn't dare speak again. She had to remind herself that this being could kill her at any time. It wasn't a comforting thought, but then she doubted she'd ever really be comfortable again.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. He'd explain, she assumed, before they themselves were likely to be eaten. Did he mean that literally?

"I won't bore myself wasting a history lesson on you. The Devourer is an artificial life form that feeds on the likes of us. It was created with the intent of killing Sith, but proved to be remarkably indiscriminate in whom it decided to eat. As is natural with such things, once they locked it up instead of simply sticking a lightsaber through the damned box a few times and being done with it, they sealed it away in a charmingly obscure location long enough for some other idiot who thinks he can control it to come along. That would be Darth Plozin, who is not nearly so clever as she likes to imagine herself."

There were vornskr who hunted force sensitives, but they were natural creatures who'd evolved that ability. Some had been used to hunt Jedi in the last. There was something else, a creature manipulated by Sith alchemy to react violently to any force presence. She thought they were called ‘tu’kata. She reasoned that other creatures must exist, but anyone who'd just imprisoned something like that instead of destroying it was either stupid or incredibly naive.

She remembered once being reprimanded by one of the masters for suggesting something like that, about destroying dark side books and formulas. It was naive to think if I didn't exist it couldn't be used against the Jedi one day.

Yeah, she could imagine someone being naive enough, stulod enough, to think locking it away would be enough.

He shrugged. "Jedi, Sith, stupid arrogance is a universal constant. At least the Sith aren't into monastic self-denial. Speaking of, have you ever been with a man, worm? Or a woman, for that matter."

She felt her face grow hot, which she thought was ridiculously unfair. None of the padawans she knew had either, so there was no reason to feel this embarrassed.

"No," she said, then paused and added, "master.”

"Of course you haven't. Jedi must stay pure and ignorant. How can you claim to protect things you don't even understand? That will change, rest assured."

She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell that meant, and shook her head slightly. She pressed her lips together instead, her hands balling into loose fists on her knees. Small cuts and bruises on her knuckles twinged and woke all the other little wounds on her body. She was abruptly aware of dried blood on her face and spotted beneath her clothes. It took self control to keep from squirming. Pain meant nothing, at least that's what she told herself.

Suddenly the screens began blaring alarms.

"And now it begins," he muttered, yanking the stick tightly. "She's noticed we're coming, and this is the part where she expresses extreme displeasure at the concept."

She looked down at the rock in her lap, she had a very bad feeling about this. She sighed and thought, 'I'm going to die this time. I could have died an hour ago. That would have been meaningless, hadn't he said her death would mean something this way? I hope so.'

The screen in front of her blossomed with contacts- five, six, eight, ten, twelve.

"There's one consolation in all this," he said as he spun the craft through the sky "and that no matter how many you face, there's only room for one behind you."

He suddenly fired a volley from the ship's blasters. A fireball erupted in the sky.

"First blood doesn't count when it's droids. By the way, make sure you're very securely strapped in. We're not going to have our ride much longer."

Checking the points of her harness she nodded, then familiarized herself with it enough to get out of it as quickly as possible. She calmed her mind and sank into a posture of preparedness to react as the Force guided her. Now she desperately missed her lightsaber.

He ducked and weaved among the droid fighters that filled the sky, all pretense of jaunty banter gone as he fought to keep them alive. He shot down one, two, three more, but the ship took a beating in the process.

They staggered through the sky now, smoke trailing as alarms blared. The console display in front of her flickered madly, then locked in a blue error screen that refused any further input.

As the ship tilted uncontrollably on its side he fired a final burst, then jammed down a lever. Moments later they ejected, the cockpit a single unit carrying them both. Above them, the craft exploded, pieces showering down from the sky.

She braced herself for the impact, an almost frightening mix of excitement and terror suffusing her.

They descended quickly, free falling in a sickening spiral. Then debris struck them, battering their system. "Kravit!" he cursed, struggling to activate the grav chute.

She did what she could to help, fresh sweat prickling her skin and setting for to the dozens of cuts in her skin, determining not to scream or show weakness. If they survived this, she'd never live it down.

The stricken segment tumbled toward the ground, flaming and looking a lot more like authentic debris now. The repulsors whined as they struggled against the relentless grip of gravity.

Systems failing, their fall only partly cushioned, they plunged downward. A sizzling hiss announced the deployment of his lightsaber, chopping through the remnants of the canopy. Reaching out, he used the Force to snap open her restraints and yank them both from the craft.

Then they hit the ground.

She went into a semi-controlled tumble, ending it by slapping he ground the way she'd been taught to fall, but all the breath was knocked from her lungs. The large stone,which she didn't know how she'd kept hold of cracked in half as it hits the ground beside her.

"Great," she muttered when she had the breath, "Now I've got two rocks." she picked them up as she stood, "That's much more helpful."

He came tumbling down the ridge she'd landed in the lee of, thumping to a painful stop several feet away. His flesh was torn and bleeding in several places, his cloak gone, the mask scarred and cracked.

He lay there for a moment, then began making a strange sound. It took her a second to realize he was laughing.

"Exactly," he said with a gurgling cough "according to plan."

For a moment she just stared, then wondered if he'd hurt her for laughing. She settled on a half grin

She automatically offered her hand to help him up, still trying to school her expression to something resembling blank of not he solemnity the situation required.

He waved off the hand and pushed himself carefully to his feet.

What followed was clearly a practiced routine, quickly and methodically inspecting himself for damage, rotating joints, moving and testing himself. He'd taken a worse impact than she, but for each point of impairment, he adjusted his posture to compensate.

He began walking as he finished, pausing to glance at her sundered rock. "You have problems with taking care of your equipment, worm. This isn't the way to earn yourself a lightsaber."

"Sorry Master," she was surprised that she actually was sorry. An hour and she already didn't want to disappoint him. What the hells was wrong with her? Was it that very faintly she could sense a familiarity?

In any case introspection had a tome and place and it certainly wasn't here. She nodded and kept the two halves of stone it each hand.

"Don't be sorry, be competent," he snapped, his familiar contempt returning. "Assuming we survive, we'll discuss it later. Now we need to move quickly before the droids find us. We're easy targets out here."

He took a deep, rattling breath, then launched himself down the path. At least he seemed to know where he was going.

The sun beat down on them, heat that would be crippling for non-Force users. He kept a punishing pace, leaping and trotting across the landscape, eyes always on the sky.

Using the Force to speed her steps as she followed the taller man, she made sure to do as he'd said before. She kept two steps behind him, matching his pace although with a bit less grace.

Suddenly he stopped and dropped down, metal hand propping him up on a scorchingly hot rock.

"There it is..." He said quietly.

It seemed like a nondescript pile of rubble like any other. What made it notable was the squad of heavily armed droids guarding it.

"Six of them, LRZ models," he muttered. "Blasters, flamers, grenades, wonderful machines. Not a bad idea, hitting Force users with droids. No telltale intentions to read. Plozin's one worthwhile innovation. A bit much to take on straight, but fortunately I have an expendable worm along. So! Go distract them for me."

The scarred mask turned toward her. "If you intend to fail me with weakness, now would be a good time to get it out of the way. Survive or die, worm. Now move."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, it wouldn't do for that to be her last expression, she moved foreword. Darting to the side she took a page from the Sith's book and summoned stones as she moved. She tossed the larger rocks into the mix and sent half them orbiting around her and many more towards the amassed droids. Thinking about it, she concentrated, lifting a sheet of dirt and dust as well.

The tiniest pebbles we're little more than a distraction, but the sand and dust she aimed at exposed joints and photoreceptors. If there had been water on this Force forsaken hole of a planet she'd have used it to splatter mud at their 'eyes' to blind them. She didn't glance at him to see if the distraction was helping, it was all she could manage to do her job. The stones orbiting her intercepting most of the shots, giving her time to dodge out of he way, but one of the bolts grazed her thigh and another sizzled just past her cheek.

She only became aware of his presence when fire dropped off, marking the demise of another droid. She danced in the midst of hell, with blasters firing around her, flames threatening to suck the air from her lungs, grenades bursting. Her good fortune was bound to end, her blood to stain the sand. A pair of droids marched up, bracketing her with fire, just a matter of time until she dodged one blast only to step into the path of another.

He flew through the air, lightsaber bisecting one droid while a hail of cortosis plates slammed into the vulnerable parts of the other. The beleaguered droid sank with an electronic wail, arms batting futilely at the insect-like swarm of metal shards. Ullan sauntered over to it and disabled it with a series of contemptuous strokes, removing the droid's limbs one by one. He grazed his saber along the droid's photoreceptors and left it whimpering in the dirt.

"Can you fight?" he called to her.

"Yes," she said it perhaps with more confidence than she felt, but she had no choice except to do everything she could to stay alive. She had spent all her life training to be a warrior, body and mind.

"Good."

He slashed through a camouflaged doorway, then dropped to a walkway below, weapon at ready. When no volley of fire greeted him, he waved her down, then pressed a strange-looking restraining bolt into her hand.

"When I confront my esteemed colleague, she's going to want to finish me herself. She'll let the droids play with you. When she does, you stay alive long enough to attach this to the blue-striped one. Anything beyond that is a bonus, but if you would prefer to avoid the deaths of millions, be fast, smart, and effective. Do you understand, worm?"

"I understand." she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "Uh," she said it quickly to get it out, "Don't die." she wasn't entirely sure why she cared, since he might kill her if they survived this. For all she knew he just needed her as a distraction and to keep the droids off his back while he fought the other dark-sider.

She raised her shield of debris and went forward.

He glanced back at her, the battered mask unreadable, then he darted away down the catwalk.

A few droids attempted to bar their path, but these were not the expensive and mighty battle droids that had challenged them outside. A few sweeps of his lightsaber were enough to remove their minor challenge, barely slowing the duo down. They emerged into a vast chamber, the sound deafening, vast thermal pumps rising and falling like house-sized bellows.

"Say what you will for the ancients, but they had a taste for dramatic structures," he shouted, barely audible over the noise.  
Suddenly another wave of hunger struck. This time, the signals were clear- the only thing to satisfy this gnawing ache of desire was below. They needed to get down there. Now.

He staggered a bit, metal fist clenching. "Gaah..."

She stumbled, catching herself on the railing before she could fall to her knees but jut barely. The stones and sand clattered against the metal, and she very nearly lost control of them. She clenched her fists, a flash of anger sending them into a tighter and more violent rotation. She got control of herself and released the bar of metal under her hands.

"Only good news... is that... it's hitting her the same way," he gasped out. "Now I'm as megalomaniacal as just about anybody toting a lightsaber, but even I grasp the simple concept of 'Forces beyond our control'. If only more of the others did it'd be a better galaxy. Anyway, I'm going to go stab this bitch now and then hurl that damn box down the deepest lava pit I can find."

He carried on, forcing himself to march upright. A brace of droids awaited them in the next chamber, but as the pair approached the droids parted, beckoning them inward.

"Put your Sith face on, worm. If it helps, think back to cleaning day at the temple. I know all the younglings hated that one. Think about it, put it on your face, and look mad."

Her lips thinned. Put on an angry face? She realized that she didn't have to pretend. She was truly angry and that worried her. As a Padawan she was untested, untried. Well, she'd failed spectacularly when the moment came to fight the darkness.

She was angry at herself, for being stupid. Or naive, which might as well be the same thing. She’d come here because she’d read that little missive, thinking her master would want her back. Even if he was a Sith she’d just not wanted to be so alone anymore. She’d told herself it was worth it, to become a Sith herself, if she didn’t have to be alone. She’d always been alone until Yuld, the other initiates didn’t like her no matter what she did.

She was angry at the Jedi, for having so many platitudes and wise sayings that amounted to nothing when it came down to it. No proverbs came to mind to help her now. They’d never trusted her, never believed in her when she’d given them everything she had and tried to be everything they’d told her she should be and had failed. In a way she couldn't be mad a the Sith for being what they were, and she was irrationally angry that she couldn't. 

She didn't put on an angry face, she just dropped her mask. The thing she’d used to protect herself for so long, the mask that hid her fear, her uncertainty, the anger that she couldn’t believe in herself when no one else did. She’d been angry for a very long time.

He glanced back at her once more, and she felt the faint stirrings of a connection. Not the same as she'd had with Yuld Rens, once upon a time, but nevertheless, she could tell that he sensed her genuine anger, and within the darkness that she felt oozing from him, there was the faint glimmering of approval. And then he was moving, marching forward among the droids as though this were a reception and he the honored guest. As they reached the middle of the phalanx, the droids turned suddenly, leveling their weapons, their spacing revealed as cleverly constructed to avoid a crossfire. He was already moving as they did, lightsaber flashing out in a direct arc behind him, aimed directly at her head.

His approval filled some need she hadn't known she possessed, nearly as empty and hungry as the alien sense of hunger that still gnawed at her. She'd ponder it later, when she had time to be disturbed.

Throwing herself forward into a rolling slide she grasped the Force. She dragged at the line of droids to her left as she passed, causing the crossfire they'd been positioned to avoid. The laser fire cut into them flagging their chests and sending droplets of molten metal into the air. Two at the end of the line aimed at the Sith, bringing their weapons up. The two halves of rock she'd been guiding along crushed their heads and sent them crashing against the wall.

She didn't even realize she'd been grinning madly the whole time.

He finished slashing through the last droid. "Old trick. Ooooooooooold trick. Disappointing, Plozin."

"Tricks become old because they work."

Darth Plozin emerged from the shadows, flanked by several more of her heavy combat-model droids. She was a solidly-built woman, thick of legs and arms, with a proportionately large chest and a roundish face. She bore the marks of cybernetic handiwork much as Ullan did, up to the side of her face, which bore a red glowing trace work of circuitry along her cheek. "You're weak, Ullan. You've barely survived this far."

"Then bring your saber out and see if you can finish me now," he taunted.

"The arm," she said "so lovely. If I'd known what it was when you had me install it..."

"You would've killed me on the table," he agreed. "Which is why I concealed its true origin and use from you. Just some antique, no?"

She activated a double-bladed lightsaber. "ND, destroy the apprentice."

A blue-banded droid stepped forward, its arms ending in double-barreled blasters. "Acknowledged, Mistress."

She whirled her lightsaber above her head. "Now for you and I, Ullan. To the end."

He lowered his stance, spreading his arms and adopting one of the opening postures of the Makashi form. The cortosis plates on his arm rippled, but did not deploy. Not yet.

As they began their dance of death, the droids moved in for Iocina.

Nearly all the grit she'd had before had gone to locking up the joints of the droids she'd already fought but some had settled into the hems and folds of her clothing. She called it up, sending it into the air over the droids heads, and reached for he force.

For a heartbeat's worth of time she thought about what she was about to do, and convinced herself that she could go back after this was over. It was just this once. Right. She drew power from the anger she'd quietly fostered from the day they'd told her to stop caring about Yuld Rens. From the fear that he'd never come home and the fear she'd been holding in her heart for days. She drew power from the dark side.

She slammed an open palm into the chest of the first droid meaning to shove it into the constructs behind it, only for it to practically explode beneath her touch. The shards of metal and gears were immediately integrated into the shabby remains of the stone shield. The power coursing through her gave her a spacial awareness she'd never experienced, and power that felt limitless. She knew she'd be paying for this later but that thought was put aside. Gripping the restraining bolt in her right hand she began to tear through the ordinary droids to reach her main target,

Ullan and Plozin were putting on a clinic in lightsaber dueling. While she clearly had the advantage of being fresher and less injured, he was showing an expertise in Makashi that kept her at bay. She was growing more frustrated by the moment, as her powerful attacks, driven by her altered body, were subtly deflected by simple parries that took her blades just slightly off course.

The droids had a conundrum, the disadvantage of many against one, as well as their Mistress potentially being in the line of fire. As Iocina began pushing through them, they fell into disorder and suddenly, she had her target within her grasp. The restraining bolt flicked out her palm to her fingertips and a grin lit her face as she snapped it into position. Using her momentum to roll to the side, she sent another force push into the remains of the shredded droids towards the feet of the female Sith.

No artsy maneuvers for Plozin, she countered with a wave of the Force that threw the shards back at Iocina, the full unleashed extent of a Force-wielder's power being an amazing thing.

ND suddenly turned and leveled his twin blasters at Plozin, opening up with a barrage of fire. The surviving droids likewise began firing on her. Her concentration broken, Iocina's wave of debris swept forward once more, smashing into her feet and legs, upending her even as she desperately fought to deflect the bolts away.

"Hold fire!" Ullan called as he lunged forward, battering her lightsaber away. The droids compliantly lifted their weapons high and froze in position.

"Plozin, Plozin, Plozin," he said, his lightsaber at her throat. "Such fond memories..."

She hissed at him. "Maybe for you. You were never any good."

"Oh that is so beneath you. So... human," he said disdainfully. "We were bonded. I know what I made you feel."

Iocina went to one knee, exhausted, and tried to conserve her strength for whatever would come next. She tried to calm her mind, listening to the two speak. She wondered what had passed between them for it to come to this. Had this woman's actions here all been to spite him? Surely not. There was still this Devourer to handle either way.

"In any event, call off your stupid droid unearthing the ancient horror, I'll mutilate you a bit as an example to others and then we'll go our way," he said. "I'm being reasonable, Shirir."

"Die in a black hole," she spat. "I couldn't call it off if I wanted."

"And that would be becau..." he started to ask, when the entire facility began to shake.

"...oh."

She braced herself on her hands as the floor pitched and shuddered. "Now what?" she asked, almost bemusedly as she stood. The darkness seemed ready to come to her hand, and she wondered if this was what they'd meant by quicker and easier. The light was always ready and waiting for her touch but the dark side felt eager to fill her and be used.

"Talk, Plozin," he said, aiming his lightsaber at her. "I know you spent months crafting that leg, I'll melt it very slowly..."

"Your old friend is here," she said.

"Vanus," he hissed. "I should have known this was too grand for you to conceive."

The ground shook again, then the floor began to buckle. Suddenly they felt a new touch, no longer a hunger that drove them to distraction, but rather a prickle of awareness, the sense prey has when a predator walks nearby.

Ullan lashed out, slashing Plozin's mechanical legs away.

"Bastard!" she screamed, recognizing his ploy at once as he took flight. "If I get out of this!"

He didn't answer, departing the room at speed. The predator was coming.

A cold fist clenched in her belly as she ran past the maimed woman, a flash of cruel pleasure had touched her when she'd fallen to writhe at his feet. She shook it off, if she thought about it she'd be even more distracted. She fell into step with the Sith as ran towards the presence that drew them forward.

Plozin's curses turned into horrific shrieks suddenly.

"Don't look back," he advised. He reached the catwalk and launched himself upward, landing on the dirt and continuing his flight.

She forced herself to keep her eyes forward and followed, scrambling only a bit less gracefully after him. She wanted to ask 'What the hell is that?' or maybe use all the most creative swear words she'd ever overheard in her life, but she simply needed all her breath to run.

He led her back toward where the cockpit crashed, the feeling morphing once more into the terrible hunger that told them they needed to return. He slowed, wavered.

"If you take one step back toward it, I'll kill you," he threatened, clearly pushing himself forward by will alone.

She shivered, her spine a line of ice eating into her stomach as she swayed. She focused on him instead, moving one step at a time, keeping his edict to stay exactly two steps behind him embedded in her mind and setting her will to obey it. If she didn't, she knew she'd be pulled inexorably back towards the thing that was eating Plozin.

Their pace slowed, the almost magnetic force pulling them back. He strayed from the path, began to veer, then pulled himself back in line with a snarl. The wreckage was in sight now. He advanced on it, circled it, then drew his lightsaber and began making hasty cuts.  
"No idea if this'll work," he said "but it's a long walk out if it doesn't, and I'll probably have to eat you on the way. So wish me luck."  
He pulled a cylindrical unit free, largely intact, though dappled with carbon scoring from the damage the ship had taken.

The ravenous hunger drove her momentarily to her knees, and she ground her fist into the dirt, grit stinging in her scraped knuckles. She focused on the pain, growling as she forced herself to stare resolutely forward.

"Luck," she gasped.

He pulled off his belt and lashed it around the end, then flipped a switch. Suddenly the tube lifted slightly off the ground. A repulsor unit, stripped down to bare essentials, essentially a barely-guided missile.

"Get on!" he called, already beginning to accelerate away from her.

She growled again, this time with a hint of exasperation and leaped upwards after him. She curled her hands into fists into the shoulders of his robe and held on. It felt like every cut in her arms caught fire as her muscles strained to keep hold, her battered body aching with exertion.

The repulsor module had only one speed- full, and as it accelerated the wind tore at them, trying to pry them away from the slick, painfully hot surface. He buffeted against the tube, nearly being pulled free, only to slam back down, her weight crushing him against it, a cycle that painfully repeated several over and over as they flew.

Fortunately, he seemed to have a gift for navigation, taking them back toward the city they had departed from. As they soared through the shield into the starport, he released his grip. The module slammed into the side of a parked ship, exploding loudly while they skipped across the ground like a pair of stones.

Once again all the air exploded from her lungs, a trend she would like to see go out of style, and she lay there just trying to breath for a few moments. As soon as she was able she groaned and rolled over, looking around dizzily for the erstwhile pilot of this particular adventure. She had no doubt that this was far from over, since that thing - whatever it was - was unlikely to stay on its side of the planet.

Oddly, she almost wanted to laugh. Less than a month ago she'd been a good little Padawan chafing under a master who was basically a glorified babysitter. Now she was on the edge of the galaxy, possibly a Sith apprentice, and in danger of being eaten by a monster that devoured Force sensitives. All in less than thirty-six standard hours. If she wasn't at least mostly sure she was going to die, it would have been hilarious.

He started to rise to his knees, only to collapse back down. With a wheezing gasp he pulled himself back and say back on his heels. His mask was a ruin and he pulled the shattered metal off. The face she saw was coldly handsome and most definitely not Rens. Where Rens had a pleasant, gentle face, this man, this Ullan, had a sharp, angular face on which compassion and soft wisdom would look altogether foreign.

He shook his arm, which dangled loosely. "Pop my shoulder back in, worm."

Without the mask to alter it, his voice was still relatively guttural, but without what she now realized was a synthetic growl.

She wasn't sure whether she was surprised or not, or even whether it mattered at this point, that he wasn't her old master. She settled on 'Definitely doesn't matter right now, think about this later' and knelt beside him. Her knowledge of field medicine at least was excellent, as her rotations in the temple medical facility had prepared her for more difficult first aid than this. She braced him, sliding it back into place as she'd done several times before. Automatically she looked him over for any other injuries that might make it difficult to continue on, then wryly flexed her own muscles and joints to convince herself she could as well. Nothing of hers was out of place, she'd just been pounded all over.

He was battered and favoring his left side, most likely broken ribs, though only a healer would likely notice. His ankle seemed damaged as well, and he was undoubtedly using the Force to stay upright. He had gouged sections oozing blood that would need extensive kolto patches, and a normal human would likely be in shock.

He rose to his feet, hand resting on his lightsaber. After a moment he transferred it to his cybernetic arm, then began to march forward. "We're going to retrieve a few things of mine, then we're getting a ship and getting off this damned planet."

She fought to keep her face expressionless, as she'd never seen anyone sustain that amount of damage and remain conscious let alone moving. She knew that powerful Jedi masters could continue fighting through immense pain, but it was one thing to hear a story and another to see it in front of her face.  
Impressed didn't even cover it. She was so busy being impressed, she told herself, that she didn't even think to run to her own tiny ship and escape the the planet and the being she followed at the same time. She shook her head and thought, 'I'm a fool.'

Again, the tenuous thread of connection touched between them. He was fire, burning hot, a well of rage. For all that he was showing a cold face, he was furious over what had happened.

He was a walking bomb, waiting to explode on the first problem that crossed his path. He began marching back toward town. Onlookers had begun to gather, drawn by the repulsor explosion, but the scarred man was waving then back, ordering them to stay away. The galaxy had forgotten, but with the rise of Revan the old lessons were being learned again on a thousand worlds and more: stand clear when the Sith walked.

She shivered as people scattered, ducking into buildings as quickly as their curiosity had drawn them out. Oddly, their fear and panic for the Sith bearing down on them led her to stand straighter. She lifted her chin and ignored her own pain. After all, what were a few burns, cuts, and bruises? She strode in the wake of a being who should have been in agony, pain that would have driven any of these pathetic people into a coma.

That little connection with him straightened her spine, his blaze fueling the kindling flame in her own spirit. She didn't realize that a few of those frightened gazes were for her.

"The weak should fear the strong," he said as he marched into the city proper. He stopped at an abandoned food cart and selected a rack of meat then began to tear into it hungrily. "There is nothing wrong with fear," he said. "Fear is a necessity for survival. Am I afraid of the Devourer? Damn certain I am, it's built to kill me."

He continued to attack his meal as he walked. "Fear is not surrender, it's admission of reality. The weak should fear the strong, and they should respect the strong."

He tore off a small scrap and threw it over his shoulder at her. "And where necessary, they serve the strong."

He walked into the inn, the very one she'd been staying at.

She caught the piece of meat, surprising herself by how grateful she was for it. It felt like she hadn't eaten in days, not just because the unnatural hunger engendered by the Devourer, but because so much had happened in a short period of time. She definitely knew she should be offended to eat the scraps tossed to her like a pet, but food was food.

The words he offered her, like the food, were something to chew on. She'd learned a lot about fear today, and about survival. Fear had kept her alert, she'd been hyper aware of everything around her and it had kept her alive. It had led her to make a hard decision, and to learn a valuable lesson about herself. She'd learned she'd rather serve this man, a Sith, than to die. A few weeks ago in the temple, she'd have said 'I'd throw myself on my blade before touching the dark side!'

She'd also learned a bit about strength, power, and what it might mean to serve the strong. As she entered the shadowed interior of the inn, away from the gawking eyes of the locals she had to wonder how she'd feel about being served. She wasn't comfortable with thinking about that one. At least not yet.

The front lobby was empty. He stopped and collected a half-full bottle of local liquor and took a drink from it, rinsed his mouth and spat it out, then took another, longer drink. She felt another weak echo of Rens, as though he was very near, and yet impossibly far away.

"Did you have anything worth keeping in your room? Anything I might find useful?"

He stopped before a door and waved his hand. She felt the Force move to mysterious purpose and heard a series of clicks, then the door slid open. Inside, she could see an elaborate trap he'd left behind, a bundle of explosives that would've taken most of the building with it, had it been tripped.

She closed her eyes for a moment, this flickering familiar presence was starting to irritate her. She wasn't sure now what to think of it. Before the mask had come off, she'd been sure... Well now she wasn't sure.

Instead she shook it off and answered his question, "The starter for the ship I," she didn't even consider using the euphemism she would have a day ago, "stole. Nothing else useful" she finished, since none of her things counted as useful to him. Truthfully it didn't count as essential to her either. She didn't have any personal effects besides the clothes, and those had been passed among all the humanoid padawans of her size in any case. She wanted to whistle in appreciation for the destructive setup, but felt that it would fall under the 'don't speak unless spoken to,' rule.

He collected a satchel and tossed it to her. Inside was a well-stocked medical kit. "You have five minutes. Patches on my worst wounds, then we move on."

He sat down heavily on the bed and pulled off the tattered remnants of his robe. He unbuckled and discarded a battered set of light armor, tossing the remnants on the floor, then pulled his undershirt up to reveal a florid pattern of bruises that had begun to form.

She set to work, setting up a sort of visual triage of what would hinder him most. The wet, musty scent of kolto filled the room as she snapped open the patches and applied them as efficiently as possible. She'd always hated the fetid smell that clung to the skin for days even after they'd been removed. There were wipes that could remove the smell, which would be necessary for a Jedi or soldier on a covert mission, but she'd never seen them to test their effectiveness.

She discarded the wrappers on the floor, but kept the plastine bag they'd been in and shoved every bit of bloody gauze inside it. Once she even ripped a corner of the blanket off using medical scissors when she noticed a blood stain on it, also being careful not to get any of her own blood on anything. Most of her wounds had clotted and begun to scab over, but better safe than sorry. She had a feeling he'd rather not leave his DNA here to be identified, and found she agreed with the sentiment. She sealed the bag shut and held it up.

"I assume you'd rather not leave your blood here, if you don't have a way to destroy it here we should take it with us." This probably didn't count towards speaking when she was spoken to, since it was probably an issue he'd care about.

As she worked, she could sense the whisper of his feelings change. The analgesic nature of the kolto on his ribs was a shock of pure bliss, of water quenching fire,enough to make him visibly relax slightly. The pain was masked away and she felt something else surging within him: lust. It competed with the slowly returning hunger that was beginning to tap against the back of their skulls. At her words he rose, advancing on her, cornering her against the wall. He leaned close to her ear as he pressed and round object into her hand. "This will take care of the evidence."

Then he turned away suddenly, grabbed his other satchel and started out the door. "Pack the medical kit and take care of sanitizing the room. I'll be outside."

She squirmed against the wall as he got far too close for her comfort. For a very short moment she'd thought he wanted to kiss her, or maybe eat her. With the hunger burning into her brain she couldn't tell the difference. When he pressed the thermal detonator in her hand and gave her his matter of fact instructions her mind couldn't even process what he'd said for a moment, it was so far beyond anything she'd thought she'd be capable of doing.

Iocina stared at the device in her hand. She couldn't help herself from calling after him, but the words came out in little more than a whisper, "Wait! That's not what I meant!" The cold metal against her fingers felt like ice, and her hand trembled slightly. She couldn't do this, could she? Her breath came in quick little gasps as something odd came over her. She'd always been told that the dark side was seductive, but she hadn't really known what that meant. The masters had spoken of it as though it were a nearly sentient thing, always seeking the downfall and degradation of the wielders of the light. She'd never really believed it.

Now though, in this moment, she wasn't sure. It whispered to her. Not in words, not like in the bad holo-dramas about Ulic Qel-Droma and Nomi Sunrider, but it fluttered against her mind in not quite clear images and feelings. She nearly swayed on her feet, taking a deep breath and letting out a short and nearly sub vocal whine.

"And this," he said, turning on her, his mood flashing to murderous anger "is exactly what I meant, worm. We are at war, even if your old masters continue to fail to grasp that. Our weapons are fear and atrocity."

She felt the caress of tendrils of the Force gathering about her body.

"Am I understood?" he hissed quietly.

She knew he wouldn't like the small whimper that slipped from between her lips, both at the sensation of his power curling around her but the quickening tugs and pushes of the Force itself urging her to obey, wanting her to do as Ullan had asked.

She swallowed, saliva filling her mouth as her body insisted she was going to be sick. If she didn't do this, he wouldn't hesitate to activate the bomb in her hands as he walked away. She flicked the timer, an oblong plate sliding halfway around the globe of durasteel filled with explosive chemicals and determined not to look back as she walked towards the man she'd agreed to call Master. Her breath was ragged as they exited, they had more than enough time that they didn't have to hurry but an atavistic sense of imminent danger rose the hair on the back of her neck and down her arms. One again she thought, 'What have I done?'

He stalked down the empty streets and stopped in front of a sign indicating a cantina, though the lights were off and the entry sealed. A flick of his lightsaber took care of the door and he stepped inside, looked around, and proceeded toward a stairway, taking the steps two at a time. A three-limbed Dug hobbled out, babbling some sort of pleas.

"Shut up," he said. "Where is the woman? Bronus?"

She stepped carefully through the smoldering remains of the door and wondered what the hell was going on. Ullan had made it fairly clear that getting off this ball of irradiated dirt was a priority, and stopping in here didn't quite match up. She'd actually assumed they'd be off to steal some poor spacer's transport. Then again, right now nothing else made sense either.

He pointed and Ullan marched down the hall, waving a hand to force a door to smash inward.

The woman who sat on her bed, knees huddled to her chest, would have been beautiful any other day. Her skin was lightly golden, her body trim and curved, hair the pale white of newly fallen snow.

Any other day. She had been crying, eyes puffy and swollen. A nasty cut split her lip.

"I knew you were coming back for me," she said.

"Who did this?" Ullan demanded.

"Gobchaak," she said softly.

"The Dug." Ullan turned and gestured and Gobchaak grabbed his throat.

"Worm, collect my property." He hesitated, then clarified. "The woman, she is my property. She's coming with us."

Iocina barely thought about obeying him this way, that sick wonderful feeling that wasn't quite pleasure and not quite disgust seethed through her as she watched the Dug from the corner of her eye. She had to shake it off, licking suddenly dry lips. She held a hand out to the woman whom Ullan was in the process of avenging. Did he actually feel something other than contempt for this woman who scrambled to her feet and willingly clutched Iocina's arm in a white knuckled grip.

She tried not to hiss as she felt a blaster burn become a streak of fresh pain beneath Bronus' hand. The woman her Master had named his property seemed to see the foreboding Sith Lord as a rescuer. Iocina was possibly more confused than she'd been since she'd confronted the masked Sith on the landing pad. Was it only hours ago? Her body was convinced that it had been days.

He twisted his wrist and the Dug's neck snapped. He didn't even look as he marched by. "Seventeen minutes to get off planet," he said. "Move the property fast and don't let her come to any harm. I don't care if you get a bit damaged in the process, but you never die for a slave."

With that he leapt back down to the first level, walking briskly.

"Come on," she spoke quietly, not just because she didn't know if she was supposed to talk this woman, but because she looked rather fragile. If Iocina raised her voice she might start crying again and she frankly wasn't sure what to do if that happened. She didn't think a crying slave and a flustered would-be apprentice would impress Darth Ullan at all.

She put an arm around the other woman's waist and jumped down after him, cushioning their less graceful descent with the force. She hurried after him, her companion seeming not at all loathe to keep up a quick pace. She forced herself not to start dithering over who the woman was, nor how she was known to Ullan, and especially not what he wanted with her.

He marched out to the starport, proceeding directly toward a decrepit freighter. He pulled a code lock from his satchel and the ramp slid down. A sudden wave of something washed over them in the Force, drawing their attention toward the horizon.

"Oh," he said, staring briefly at what seemed to be a wall of darkness advancing toward the city.

"Never mind about the timetable, time to go."

He sprinted up the ramp.

She half lifted the lighter woman, though taller than Iocina by an inch she was all soft curves compared to the padawan's lean muscle, and took to the ramp in a few steps. She only half released Bronus, keeping on hand locked around her arm above the elbow. She had no idea if this woman would suddenly try to escape, but she wasn't going to let her go until she was told to. She grabbed the control to raise the ramp and give it a hard pull and twist to lock it into place, sealing it against the vacuum of space.

The ship was already whining and clunking to life, the engines groaning at the painful cold start. Even as the interior lights came on to reveal a filthy, fetid interior, he was already lifting the ship on its repulsors, driving it forward. There was a tortured squeal of metal on metal as the ship failed to lift quickly enough to clear a neighboring vessel, but he gunned the repulsors anyway, forcing it over.

She could hear him cursing in the cockpit as he pushed the ship up. "Should've picked something sportier for my kravving emergency ride!"

The wall of darkness continued to swallow the world, filling the screen as the ship wallowed to turn away.

The deck pitched to the side, the inertial dampeners only able to handle so much, and knocked both women into a bulkhead. Iocina took the blow on her back, taking the weight of the woman-captive-whatever she was on her front. She grunted and shoved off the wall, dragging herself and Bronus towards the cockpit until she found a set of seats that looked jury-rigged into place. They were cracked and peeling synthetic leather and seemed about to pop free from the wall they were fastened to.

She rather unceremoniously shoved her companion into one and helped her lock orange crash netting around her torso. She was ridiculously glad the woman seemed to have some sense of self preservation, trusting a Sith Lord not withstanding. She then stumbled to the doorway of the cockpit, leaned in and asked "Is there anything I can do to help?" She stared at the encroaching wave of blackness welling up to engulf the whole planet, reaching towards their transport. She hoped this piece of junk wasn't as derelict as it looked.

"Get in the chair and coax as much as you can from the engines."

The ship struggled through the sky as the darkness closed in. "None of the old texts mentioned 'wall of death' anywhere. I guess super weapons evolve when you leave them to season for a few centuries."

She dropped into the chair, and studied the controls briefly while she buckled in. It was similar to the courier ship, and really not much older than it was. The only differences were a few modifications, some of which looked like they might have been done on the fly as it were. Here's not the best place to try things you've only done in a simulator, but there's got to be a first time to do anything.

She'd like to look back and say her hands danced professionally across the controls like an expert but she'd be lying if she did. The controls were a mess, one of the switches was gummed with some kind of grease and took a fraction of a second longer to flip. When everything came down to seconds, it mattered. She pushed the beleaguered engine maybe harder than it had ever managed for years. Surely the Force was with them, or else the engine was better than she thought it was, because it looked like they might make it.

She felt him relax, tension flowing away. While he didn't say anything, his demeanor and mood seemed to be that they'd done everything they could, and now they would live or die according to fate and the Force.

He worked the controls, still grumbling softly. "If I could go back and kill the last owner again, I'd do it much slower. This was a nice ship once."

Suddenly tendrils shot forth from the darkness, grasping for them. All at once she felt his anger flow, as though his emotions had levers, to be pulled at appropriate moments. He began jinking the ship desperately.

Instinctively, she reached across the thin line of connection between them. It was so like a training bond that she felt it might work the same way. Uncertain what else to do she fed her strength into him. The fury that had overtaken her in battle with the droids flared to life as a warm ball of molten heat inside her, and she thrust that through the tenuous bond as she would have done with calm assurance towards Master Rens.

Her Master had told her this ability was similar to Jedi battle meditation, but less useful than the power to influence an army through a long campaign. She'd heard that a young Jedi named Bastila possessed that kind of power, and she was being trained intensively in its use to aid the Republic in the war against Revan. But this was only of use to those immediately around her, and only those sensitive to the Force. She'd only used it once, when Rens had taken her on the single mission he'd felt she was ready for before he'd gone to war. She hoped now that she was doing the right thing, that it would do any good at all.

He seized her aid hungrily, opening himself to it, their anger merging as he seized the ship and flung the vessel out of harm's way.

Red lights were flashing on her board, an eerie echo of the earlier dogfight. Something began shooting sparks under the console. All around them, the tendrils were weaving a web, chasing them higher and higher, snapping at their heels.

Orbit.

As if enraged by the loss of its prey, the darkness lashed out one last time, tearing away a thruster, but they had escaped most of gravity's pull and continued upward as he used brute force and the Force to keep them on course. Then at last they were safely in space, as safe as anyone could be in a damaged deathtrap of a ship missing a thruster and half its landing gear while suffering from a minor electrical fire as well as other unspecified failures.

She slapped open the console and glanced at the place beneath it where fire extinguisher should have been. Of course, just like everything else it was junked. The indicator on its side showed empty. She glared at the sparking wires and removed the oxygen from the area around them with a growl of frustration. The flames snuffed out of existence and the air popped as it rushed back in to fill the void. A faint scent of burned plastic and ozone hung in the air with the smoke.

An almost hysterical bubble of laughter burst from her mouth and she slapped a hand over it, shoulders shaking. She wasn't sure she was really laughing or holding in sobs, but she quickly regained control of herself as a wave of pure exhaustion dragged at her. She knew that she was physically and mentally drained of the last dregs of her energy, and it was purely the will of the Force that held her upright and conscious but she was damned if she'd completely lose her composure. She'd do that later when she could hide in the 'fresher like a civilized being.

"It's a good feeling," he said. "Enjoy it. We're alive."

He started to lean back in his chair, only for it to make a sickening snap and nearly topple over. He leapt up and turned, reaching out to crush it before catching himself. "Can't ruin the only damn pilot's seat we have."

Refuse and debris had dislodged itself during the hasty escape,leaving an ankle-deep pile of junk and trash on the floor.

He pointed at Bronus. "Slave, get to work cleaning this mess up."

She fumbled with her webbing, trying to unjam the buckles. "Yes, Master."

"I'm going to check the engines and the hyperdrive. See what you can do here, worm."

She really didn't want to move. She really, really didn't. Her entire body was in pain, exhaustion pounded a rhythm in her skull, and frankly she wanted to cry. In fact she could feel moisture welling in her eyes. Instead of letting tears escape she closed her eyes and reached for the Force. What answered her call was not the cool soothing touch of the light. It did not comfort, did not calm. The darkness got there first and filled her with a searing heat that brought a choking gasp out of her throat.

Behind her she could sense Bronus reaching out to touch her shoulder, "Don't touch me." her voice came out harsher than she intended and the woman snatched her hand back and moved away.

The dark side didn't soothe her wounds, but it did make them seem less important. She stood and began to set the cockpit to rights, repairing the console with a box full of spare parts and wires that had probably been ripped out to make room for the haphazard modifications. The anger welling up in her made her movements precise and abrupt, slamming panels shut with a bit more force than strictly necessary. Running a corner of her sleeve over a panel that looked as though the pilot had habitually rested his feet on it she found the name of the ship literally carved into the plastic with a sharp object.

"The Meandering Maiden."

All the fury drained out of her and she started to laugh. She sat down in the broken pilots seat, put her head in her hands, and laughed until she cried. Then, much more quietly, she simply cried.

TBC


	2. Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'You've bought your life,' he'd said. Was she going to throw that away now? Was she a coward, wanting him to kill her so that she didn't have to face the pain of her own choices? She wanted to blame her brushes with the dark side on him, to take no responsibility. It would be easy to die, but was she strong enough to live with her choices?

Eventually she became aware of Ullan’s presence, lurking in the corner watching her. He stepped past her and looked over the console, then began punching in a series of commands. As he worked, he brought up Vilargo on the main screen. The world was a blackened marble, wracked with storms visible from orbit.

"Just so you know, worm, when I offered you the opportunity to save millions, I meant it. It didn't work, but these things happen."

He found a place to sit on the edge of the console. "I'm going to make sure that certain sources know this, the kind that report to your former masters at Dantooine. Now that it's the sort of mess that requires noble, heroic sacrifice I'm sure they'll have some martyrs to throw themselves away on the thing."

He reached down and flipped the lever. The engine whined in protest, but somehow held together long enough to throw them to lightspeed.

"Now, I'm going to bed. Being as how there's only the one bed, you'll join me there. Slave, you stay on the floor."

Bronus murmured her assent, looking dazed and confused by the entire sequence of events.

Iocina pondered giving a token protest, that she could sleep perfectly well in the copilots chair, but she just didn't have the willpower to argue. She stood and followed him, hoping that the bed wasn't as filthy as the rest of the ship. Even if it was disgusting they'd probably just rip off the bedding and sleep on the mattress. She followed him inside the surprisingly large cabin, well large relative to what she'd been expecting anyway. It seemed most of the trash had been kept out of the room. The bed was large, big enough for all three of them and maybe another if they all squeezed in, and it had probably seen a great deal of company to entertain the previous captain.

She stood uncomfortably just inside the door, hands flexed into loose fists. She was tired, and dirty, and the bed looked extremely inviting. But the thought of sharing it was disturbing. Not to mention sharing with with him in particular. So, she stared at the floor and tried to think of a way to sleep there instead like Bronus.

He began stripping off his ragged clothing with no apparent sense of modesty. He tossed them back at Bronus, then threw himself down on the bed, lightsaber clenched in hand.

"If you try to get frisky on me tonight I will stab you," he growled.

His unclothed body was ropy and muscular, and crisscrossed with scars. Lacerations, buckled flesh from being gouged, what appeared to be a trio of scars from some sort of claws running along both ribs. There was no good reason to bear such marks with medical technology so capable of removing them. He clearly kept his scars as some sort of statement.

Turning halfway to face the wall, she began to strip off her own shredded tunic. She couldn't stop herself for sneaking glances at his scars, wondering what had made some of them. He'd have fresh ones soon if he didn't change the kolto patches or get some further treatment for the wounds he'd gotten today. As she peeled the pale brown tunic over her head she had to stifle a small sound of pain as it stuck to a patch of dried blood between her ribs. She was liberally marked with cuts and burns from all the falling down and getting shot at so that she couldn't tell the difference now between those wounds and the ones inflicted by the plates of cortosis on his mechanical arm.

She had to gingerly sit on the edge of the bed to work one of her boots off, but found Bronus grasping the heel of the second and silently removing it for her. Murmuring a soft thanks, she stripped off the wide legged trousers and handed them to her as well. Her underclothes weren't in much better condition, and soaked with sweat, but she had no intention of taking them off. She sat there, breathing in and out to calm herself for a moment, before turning to face Ullan. Working her way up the empty side of the bed she curled just on the edge of it, face resolutely to the wall.

He was asleep within seconds, and yet she could still sense him in the the Force, a form of modified meditation. His thoughts were not open to her, but she could sense the furious pace of them, a river that attacked and eroded any problem put before it. She could sense that he was also keenly aware of her, both for her proximity and in general. 

She lay there, as still as the two halves of rock nestled in remains of her clothing on the floor. It wasn’t certain when she fell asleep, but she half woke once to find he’d rolled so that his silvery hair had spilled over her face. She didn’t dare move in case she pulled it. She didn’t exactly think he’d take kindly to it. Exhaustion dragged at her until she slept again.

When she woke she found the bed gratifyingly empty. She wasn't sure how long she'd slept, but she was rested enough. Her body protested any sort of movement, but she'd been through at least a bit of that before. She'd never been beaten so thoroughly but the general principal was the same for any muscle stiffness - move.

She stretched each muscle group until she felt she could move without stumbling at least, and looked around for the remains of her clothing. Her trousers, though still in the same condition, had been neatly folded which made her mouth twitch. The shirt was a loss, she decided, and wished she'd opened her damned mouth about her spare clothes. She'd have to do with just her breast band in place of it. Of course she thought even those minutes spent grabbing them would have made their escape a bit trickier. 'Or impossible,' she thought.

She used the remains of the shirt to form a sort of sling for her wonderful broken rock. She felt ridiculous tying that around her waist, but also oddly proud that she'd kept hold of them at all. She knew she couldn't avoid leaving the room much longer, and her stomach protested the thought. She prayed there was food, and held out a tiny hope for at least a sonic shower somewhere in the ship but wasn't really counting on it.

When she entered the galley, she discovered that it was much in the same state as the rest of the ship. Bronus had begun to clean it up, but much like the rest of the ship it was a monumental task, more suited to a fleet of maintenance droids.

He had stacked a pile of ration packs on the table and had begun to sort through them. As Iocina entered he snatched one up and threw it at the floor in front of her.

"I think some of these go back to the last war, but they'll still nourish."

Three empty packs testified to his own appetite. He swept them off the table and picked up a fourth.

She bent to pick it up, she was wary of using the force for even such a small thing. She was feeling odd, unstable even, and she felt she needed a week of meditation to set her mind to rights. She stepped carefully around Bronus, who was now picking up the empty ration packs with the same indifference as she cleaned everything else. Oddly she didn't seem to feel degraded by this, which surprised Iocina. Her time on Vilargo must have been... interesting. She didn't want to think about that.

She tore open the package with her teeth after unsuccessfully trying to pull the strip free that should have slit it down the side, and began to eat it in small bites. Her stomach was unsettled and she worried she'd lose the food immediately if she ate it too fast. The downside of this was that she had to taste the stuff for longer than she would have liked. It tasted much like the ship smelled, musty and old enough to have been in the last Sith war.

She watched Ullan eating the rations indiscriminately as though he didn't taste it at all. She wanted to ask something, maybe 'Now what?' or 'What are you planning to do to/with me?' but she didn't dare ask. Not only did she worry about what he would do if she spoke out of turn, but she didn't want to know the answers. No, she did want to know, she was just afraid.

"Go ahead and ask," he said, tossing the ration pack aside. He threw himself into the nearest chair and stretched out, luxuriating. Pain radiated through their connection, but he didn't show a flicker of it on his face.

"You can speak freely. For now. "

"Were you waiting for me?" She asked first, "In my dream you told that man he should have told you I was there. That he had my description." She toyed with a ragged thread on the shredded shirt pouch around her waist. "And if you were, will you tell me why?"

He nodded. "That thing tends to enhance our capacity for visions. Even if we're not usually gifted for it. I saw you and some other interesting things. I knew that Rens would draw you here."

He reached up to run his flesh hand through his hair. "He was hoping to turn you, you know. He wouldn't have been able to do it, though. Too weak, that one."

She pressed her lips together and knew her face had gone white, "So he was there?" she purposely pressed a thumb onto a bruise on one wrist, using the little pain to ground herself. "How did you end up looking for me instead? And, well, what happened to my master?" she grimaced, thinking it was probably a stupid question, but one she couldn't help but ask.

"Slave, bring me my satchel."

He remained utterly relaxed in the chair until Bronus returned, kneeling at his side and holding out the satchel. He snapped it up and began rummaging through it, then snapped out an item and tossed it to her casually.

It was a holocron.

She caught the engraved cube in both hands, one corner pressing sharply into her callused palm. She looked it over, a faint blue glow spread out from the places her hands touched to spill from the deep etched grooves.  
She dropped automatically into a meditative posture, the same as she'd always used when listening to a history or lesson. She tried to calm her mind but only half succeeded; her emotions we're fickle and wavered between curiosity and fear and a faint anger that she didn't want to acknowledge. She waved an unsteady hand over the top of the holocron and the gentle light bloomed into a hologram floating just over the surface.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Ullan spoke up in the silence that followed. "He always does that. The transcription was traumatic."

Rens was curled up around himself. When he rose to his ghostly feet, a lightsaber wound to the stomach revealed itself. His eyes rolled crazily, seeking Ullan but then cutting back to her. "Iocina?"

She rocked back slightly, swallowing hard. She looked up at Ullan's impassive face then back down at the pain wracked form before her. "Master?" her voice was a thin whisper, she cleared he throat and tried again with feigned confidence.

"Master?" her voice was steadier this time.

"Oh no," Rens said. "You did come."

"You yourself said she would," Ullan said.

"Don't hurt her!"

"Dead men do not give orders, Yuld. Besides, you wanted to bring her to the so-called 'dark path'. What exactly did you think that entailed?"

Rens mouth worked soundlessly.

She shook her head, incredulous. You're begging him not to hurt me? You lured me away to try and turn me, and now you're afraid I'm going to be hurt."

She looked up at Ullan again, "You're right," she said, "he wouldn't have been able to do it."

"What would you have done with me then?" she asked the hologram, "If I'd refused to be seduced to darkness would you have had the fortitude to hurt me yourself?" she bit the inside of her cheek, mindful of Rens' lessons on body language. She didn't want to appear as weak as she felt.

Rens gaped at her. "What happened to you? We had to do this! We had to defeat the Mandalorians!"

"And fools like you thought that would be the end of it." Ullan said. "The worm belongs to me now, just as your pathetic ghost does, Rens."

Her head snapped up and the words left her mouth before she could think about them, "You don't own me!"

Ullan turned his head toward her slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Are you willing to die for those words?" he asked softly.

She scrambled back, away from the Sith and the holocron. It was easy to say you'd die for your beliefs, but actually doing so... And what did she believe in now? Everything was moving so fast that she couldn't keep up. A pounding headache started between her temples.

"I don't know." she said honestly, "and a few days ago I thought I did." crimson shame crept up her neck into her cheeks. "I honestly thought that if I couldn't help my master I'd die for my convictions before I turned."

"Now is the time to know," he said as he rose from the chair. "You have until the time that I gut you and paint this cabin with your remains to decide." The lightsaber, never far from his grasp, slid easily into his hand.

Fear and anger welled up in her, forcing her mind into a maelstrom she wasn't fully prepared to deal with. While her emotions roiled her mind reached a kind of clarity that she hadn't felt since the moment she'd fallen to him with his blade pointed at her face.

'You've bought your life,' he'd said. Was she going to throw that away now? Was she a coward, wanting him to kill her so that she didn't have to face the pain of her own choices? She wanted to blame her brushes with the dark side on him, to take no responsibility. It would be easy to die, but was she strong enough to live with her choices?

She bowed her head in submission, "No Master Ullan. I'm not willing to die for something I'm not sure I even believe in anymore."

Her eyes fell to the tiny hologram. Rens' expression was stricken, head shaking in denial. She found herself glaring at it with real venom, wanted to once again decry her own mistakes and blame them on him for luring her out here in the first place. But she'd made that choice too.

The lightsaber sizzled to life. "Then humble yourself and show this fool what it means to take what you want. This is what you could never do, Rens. This is why you died, you insignificant moron."

He swept the lightsaber at the floor in front of him. "Grovel, worm."

She flinched, from the blade, from her thoughts. 'Am I really going to do this?' she asked herself, 'debase myself to him in front of my old master?' She almost wanted to laugh at her idiocy, because of course she was going to do it. Hadn't she said her choices were all made?

She slowly pulled herself back onto her knees and leaned forward. She kept her eyes on the hologram for a long moment, watching her old master's face fall. Then she looked up at Ullan, her new master, and lowered herself to the floor.

She pressed her forehead to the cold deck, her hands placed on either side of her head. She knew that this form was called 'the full submission' given to kings and emperors in a dozen cultures, and the name was appropriate. Her body trembled at first, but she made herself still.

"Forgive me Master," she said, "I understand my place now."

He lifted his foot and placed it on the back of her head, giving enough weight to press her forehead down into the filthy deck plating. Bronus hadn't had time to tend the floors, and ancient stains and filth impressed itself upon her skin.

"This is how you conquer, Rens. This is how you take. You can never go halfway. Revan understands that. Even that fool Malak understands it."

He lifted his foot, relieving the pressure on her. "I will allow you to keep your tongue, worm, but know that I own you now, your body and your soul, and I will use you any way that I see fit."

She kept her face pressed to the floor, certain that he'd be displeased if she tried to rise on her own. "Yes Master Ullan." she spoke clearly, a strange feeling of release sweeping through her. He'd said before that the weak should fear and respect the strong, should serve the strong. What was wrong with her? Did she want that? She had to be honest with herself: she did. Did she want to be feared one day? She'd always quietly desired respect, and she admitted to herself that fear could lead to respect. Did she respect Ullan as well as fear him? Yes, that too.

The hologram of Rens made small incoherent noises of rage and fear and she felt nothing but contempt. She could never have feared or even respected him after seeing what he really was.

He turned and waved a hand at the holocron, deactivating it. "Your former master has some useful advice on various forms. He was a decent duelist, albeit obviously not good enough to not end up trapped in a holocron. Beyond that, he was a useless fool and we won't speak of him any further unless we have need of some nugget of knowledge he may possess. You, on the other hand..."

He nudged her with his foot. "On your feet, worm."

She stood, wanting to wipe the grime from her face. Her fingers twitched but she forced them to relax, locking her hands behind her. She stood straight, head up, but kept her eyes lowered in a posture of readiness. She set her mind into the same receptive and ready pattern she'd learned at the enclave when she'd been about to receive instruction.

He moved into her space, forcing her backward until she was pinned against the bulkhead.

"You have a great many things to unlearn," he said, his hand on her arm. "All you were to the Council was another disposable lightsaber, cannon fodder. I will make something of you, something real and alive. Whether you accept the transformation or I simply have to break you into shape is determined by your acceptance of this."

He pressed his body against her. "I would enjoy breaking you..."

She could feel the heat from his body against hers, cold from being pressed to the floor. A very soft whimper escaped her before she clamped her mouth shut. No one had ever been this close to her that she could remember. The Jedi weren't complete asceticists but they didn't think much of physical expressions of affection outside of the creche.

The closest she'd been to anyone was practicing hand to hand combat, where any contact was broken off immediately and not something you sought out.

"Master?" her voice cracked, "What do you want me to do?" She shivered as his heat drove the cold from her skin. She could imagine what 'unlearning' might entail - releasing emotions instead of repressing them, rejecting the Jedi code - but she had a feeling that wasn't everything he had in mind.

"Be the clay in my hands," he said. "Release yourself to whatever I will shape you into. It's not what I want, it's what I will do whether you cooperate or not,” His hand drifted to her throat, a light grip, yet a message all the same.

He could feel her pulse quicken under his fingers, and her breath came out in a soft pant. Her first impulse was to break free and try to get away, but the new part of her that had broken free when she'd abased herself wanted to lean into his touch. She made herself relax, head tilted up so his hand could wrap further around it. "I, yes." she felt light as though something had loosened inside of her. "What can I do?" she asked, realizing it was a sincere question and not one of confusion. She didn't know what she could do, what she was capable of. It made her angry at herself to realize she'd never asked that question, even of herself.

He seemed to pick up the tenor of her emotional turmoil.

"You can love, you can hate. You can desire so strongly that you will kill anything that gets between you and what you want."

His grip on her throat tightened ever so slightly. "You can fear, and from that fear you can learn to be brave."

His mouth was at her ear now, had been for several seconds now. "The fools on the Council call this the 'dark side'. I reject that dichotomy altogether. This is freedom."

She tilted her head to the side, "I didn't understand." she said, "In the enclave everything seems so simple." her voice was a thin whisper, his hand closing her airway just a fraction too tightly for anything else, "There's nothing there to love, because passion is anathema. There's nothing to hate, but only because there's nothing to feel passionate about."

An odd heat bloomed low in her belly, matching the heat pressing into her from his body and his mouth on her ear. "But there's fear. Everyone is afraid, always. Afraid to fail, afraid to succeed because that way lies desire for success. Especially now there's fear that any of your fellows could fall or you could join the fallen."

"I knew I couldn't live like that anymore, I knew when I left that I couldn't go back. I want to be free." She fully leaned into his touch, nearly cutting off her own breath.

He turned her head and kissed her, and she felt him purposely grasp the connection between them, to drive his emotions through it, to let her feel the full intensity of his hunger, a black hole of avarice that could never be filled. He crushed her against the bulkhead as he drew her into the kiss, his need overwhelming both physically and emotionally.

A liquid moan spilled out of her mouth into his, a sound she'd never known she could make. Her back arched as the immense power driving him slammed into her, filling her with an alien need she'd never felt for herself. She knew she should shrink away from it, this well of hungry darkness that nearly rivaled the thing they'd fled. Instead she relaxed and opened herself to it, drew it in like the first drink of water after days of thirst. She was dimly aware that she'd brought her hands up and gripped his shirt, that she was kissing him back desperately, and that her own need was taking over her body.

She hesitated, only the the smallest fraction, tearing her mouth from his. "Help me turn my fear into something I can use." she drew a deep ragged breath, "Please?" Her hips twitched against him, a movement that would have mortified her had she not been so full of his need melded with hers.

He laughed and pulled away from her. "Fine. Slave, attend me."

Bronus put down her rag and knelt at his feet.

"This insignificant scrap of flesh, this slave, is better than you. If I take a partner into my bed for my pleasures today, it would be this slave, because she knows the ways and arts to please a man. For that, she is worth more and for that she has a part of my attention that you don't have. She, a slave whose life could be snuffed in a heartbeat, is above you. Do you fear that? Resent it at the very least?"

He stroked the top of Bronus' head. "Things that make you fear, make you resent, make you hate, they should make you think. How do you rectify the imbalance between yourself and a lowly slave? Do you entreat her? Do you order her to teach you? Do you rip the knowledge from her?"

His hand curled in her hair. Bronus was shivering, but kept her face impassive. "The power balance between you dictates the decision. If she were mighty you entreat as you have me. A mere slave? You make certain that she complies fully and obediently in such a manner as to remind the slave that she is and will always be beneath you. You control her fear and kill all thoughts but compliance."

Iocina had never truly felt jealousy, not on the scale that was rising in her now. She had no real reason to be, because until this moment she'd been terrified of being touched in that way. He'd asked her before if she'd ever been with anyone sexually, and she'd been honest. The teachings of the Jedi had forbidden attachments such as that since not too long after the last Sith war, even splitting siblings into separate enclaves to discourage it.

She couldn't even remember wanting something like that, let alone wanting it so badly that she'd desire to hurt someone to get it. The hot limitless greed in Ullan's soul had felt entirely foreign to her, never had she wanted or needed anything with such an overwhelming focus. Until now.

Watching his hand trailing through Bronus's silver-white hair, the mix of terror and desire dawning on the slave's face. It lit a growing flame of envy in her heart. She admitted to herself that she was afraid, admitted that in some perverse way she wanted to be on her knees with his hands on her. She felt her hands ball into fists against her thighs.

She looked into the woman's face and knew that the fear was directed not at her master, but at Iocina. Ullan hadn't harmed her yet, while Iocina had been kind to her. Could she frighten this woman; make her so afraid she would obey her completely? She didn't think she had it in her, yet, to dominate in the way Ullan did.

She felt a very odd smile grow on her face, it would have looked gentle if her eyes hadn't been utterly cold. She slowly knelt in front of Bronus, trying to copy the graceful way the slave had knelt. Cupping the woman's chin in her hand she leaned in and dropped a kiss on her forehead. The fine trembling that had been rippling through the slave became more pronounced. Force, why did she like this; was this what it meant to be corrupted? She wondered if that was why she liked it, or if this was always a part of her and had only now had an outlet.

The grip on Bronus' chin shifted to seize her jaw just tight enough to cause her to make a soft pained cry. Iocina felt a sigh pass her lips as she leaned in and whispered in a kind voice. "Teach me to please our master or I'll break your jaw."

"Yes mistress," Iocina whispered.

"Mistress Worm, until she earns otherwise," Ullan said coldly, releasing his grip on Bronus' hair. "You'd best be a good student, Worm. If you don't please, you'll be the one to suffer for it."

She rose from her knees into a crouch, balancing her elbows on her knees and watching the trembling slave. This felt good, and terrible, like the darkness itself. She could feel it urging her on. She knew that a very small, very obstinate part of her was continuing to insist that she could get out of this. Escape, turn away from the path she was taking the first tentative steps on. She'd always thought of falling to be a grand and monstrous act, one monumental orgy of hate, and fear, and lust. She knew now that it came in little steps, tiny sips of darkness that began to add up.

"I'm waiting." it came out in a little malicious sing-song and she was almost horrified at herself. A low interesting tug came in the warm place she'd discovered as he'd pinned her to the wall, distracting her from that corner of herself that still struggled.

Bronus took a deep breath to gather herself. "There are... many things. To please a man, he must like what he sees," she gestured her hand across the front of her body "touches," she dragged a finger up her cleavage "tastes," her tongue slipped out to meet her fingertip, the faintest of touches "smells," she tilted her head, pausing to take a sip of air "and hears."

With the last, she let out a slight moan of pleasure.

"But," she said, seeming to warm to the subject "you must know the man first."

"And what do you know about me, slave?"

"You enjoy power, fear, and pain," Bronus said. "My lord."

She could feel her pulse quickening again, her eyes followed the other woman's hand as she illustrated her points. A small helpless sound slipped out and Bronus flicked her gaze at her. She wondered for a brief moment if Bronus enjoyed those things too.

"Undress," she said sweetly, then added, "slave." Saying the word nearly brought her up short and a bit of her amusement slipped away. Her heart thumped hard in her chest, her expression falling. Bronus was a person, how could she think of her that way? She tried to shake it off and quirked one side of her mouth back up into a slight smile but she knew Ullan had seen it.

Bronus evidently hadn't, or she ignored it, and began to slip out of her clothing. She felt heat rise in her cheeks, despite that she'd told her to do it she suddenly wanted to cover her again. She'd only ever seen other women naked when bathing and changing after physical exercises, and she never took much notice of the way her own body looked. She was immediately self conscious and very aware that she herself was dirty and covered in small wounds.

Bronus was entirely comfortable in her body, and used to eyes upon her. However, she cast her eyes down obediently. "What does mistress Worm desire?" she asked.

"Good question," Ullan asked. He traced his finger along Bronus' collarbone. "Very good question..."

She detested her answer, but had no other to give. "I don't know." she tried to keep her voice calm and emotionless. "I was discouraged from thinking about it."

She stood and turned her back to them, shoulders tense. "I don't even know what it feels like to be touched they way you seem able to touch yourself." She winced, she hadn't meant to phrase it that way, and knew it sounded weak.

"Tell me, slave, how it feels to be touched. Tell me what makes you... need to be touched." she hated how her voice trembled but the confidence she'd felt before had ebbed.

Bronus hesitated. "It depends on who is doing the touching, mistress Worm. For some it is nothing, just a pressure on the skin. For others, it is..."

Iocina could sense her hesitation. "Like fire, warm, a wave. Do you know waves, mistress Worm?"

"Yes," she said quietly. Her raised her eyes to look at her master. She understood the feeling of waves eating away at the sand beneath your feet and sucking you down. She was constantly living with that sensation. But what else did waves do? They rocked, soothed, relaxed.

They were the warmth that had spread between their bodies, the heat that he'd thrust through their bond into her being, the fire that was kindling in her soul and demanded to be fed.

She felt her cheeks burning now and her throat felt tight with anxiety. "Show me." She convinced herself it came out as an order and not a plea.

Bronus rose to her feet and moved forward, her movements firm and decisive now that she was on familiar ground. She wrapped her arms around Iocina, pressing their bodies together, kissing her with passion, touching her. It was powerful, it was new, and had it been her first kiss it would have been more of an event, had Iocina not so recently experienced the sort of fiery bond that could only be shared by Force users.

Behind them, Ullan had sat down and opened another ration pack, which he at least seemed willing to eat at a moderate pace rather than inhaling as he had the previous ones.

Her body stiffened as she was embraced, then slowly relaxed as Bronus' mouth found hers. This was different from before. Ullan took, he conquered her body in a kiss the same way he'd done when she'd abased herself beneath his heel. He was hard, aggressive, avarice personified. Bronus gave, and this time Iocina took. She drank the kiss down, wet heat seeming to pool in her as hands slid gently over her body. Pale fingers stroked her grimy skin, perfect and soft against hard muscled arms. The slave broke the kiss first, giving a deep lovely sigh as she lowered her head to kiss the hollow at the base of Iocina's throat.

Iocina's hands had remained limp at her sides, now she carefully placed them on naked hips. The skin beneath her hands was soft and rounded, the opposite of her own lean body - lean from years of hard training. She shivered as Bronus slid fingers behind her back and slid the catch on the breast band, pulling it free. Here at least she was clean, skin a shade lighter than the surrounding bruised flesh. Here she was soft, usually keeping her small breasts bound tight to keep them out of the way.

She groaned, a soft animal sound as fingers stroked, circled; her flesh puckered and she heard Bronus sigh herself as she closed her mouth around one hard nipple. Iocina gasped, sliding her own hands lower. She felt awkward, her own experimental touches were not smooth and practiced. She could only copy what the more skilled woman was teaching her, using her own body as the instructions. She slowly pulled herself free, Bronus looking up at her with sort of dark knowledge in her eyes that Iocina wanted to take for herself. She lowered her own head, tongue lapping gently at the pulse racing beneath the flesh of the slave's throat before she bit down.

She slid her hands down the woman's body, cupping and stroking her breasts the same way. She lifted her head to find a dark stain on the pale flesh and felt her body shudder as Bronus moaned. After a moment Bronus pulled away, circling the former Jedi. She took a deep breath and murmured, "Our master loves power." she caught Iocina's wrists and locked them behind her back. They both watched their Master's face, the slightly taller Bronus over Iocina's shoulder. She took the unresisting wrists in one hand and slid the other around Iocina's waist. 

"Our master loves pain." She raked her nails across the abused flesh of her abdomen, drawing a surprised cry of pain. She pulled Iocina down to the floor to kneel with her, "Our master loves fear," she lowered herself into the posture of abject submission she'd watched Iocina take before. She lifted only her head to look at Ullan through a curtain of hair, "But only our master can hold this power over you, for I am his slave and yours when he orders it."

He rose up suddenly and grabbed a handful of Bronus' hair, using it to push her face first to the table.

"Power," he said. "To take what you want when you want it."

He lowered his trousers and thrust himself into her, eyes still fixed on Iocina, his tone light and conversational even as he began to rhythmically thrust. "Pain," he played his metallic hand across Bronus' spine. There was a faint crackling that elicited a squeal of pain "and fear."

Silver white hair began floating in the air around Bronus. It began to wind itself into two ropes that crisscrossed over her throat, forcing her face up so that her eyes met Iocina's. She gasped in terror as her wind was stolen.

"Because the pain and fear of the weak is delicious."

Her eyes widened as he slid into Bronus in on smooth movement, she desperately wanted to look away. This was too much too fast, she felt like she was going to hyperventilate. At the same time she realized she was digging her nails through the material covering her thighs. The rough halves of stone still tied on one hip ground into her elbow.

Bronus was mewling, grinding her hips against the edge of the table. Even as he hurt her she was writhing pleasure. Force, she was beautiful.

Pain, she wanted to rake her nails over that perfect flesh, to mar it just a little. She was looking up at Iocina through eyes glassy with fear, making little gasping sounds as her own hair began to strangle her. Iocina felt wetness pool between her legs as stepped forward and pressed her mouth to Bronus', cutting off what little bit of breath she had left. She pulled back just as she felt the woman's panic reach a crescendo in the force. She heard herself moan, but she felt like she was drowning. There was a swelling wave moving in her, spreading out to fill every inch of her skin. It was sucking her down with into, into warm wonderful darkness that stole every thought from her mind.

The hair whipped away from Bronus' throat as she began to black out, instead curling around to cover her eyes, pulling her head back even further to arc her neck back painfully. Free to breath, she became loudly vocal, her cries at an almost perfect pitch between sexual ecstasy and agony.

"Follow your instincts," he commanded Iocina, his demeanor still entirely casual, as though this were simply a conversation over breakfast.

She felt herself go under the rolling wave, her need filling her as Bronus' screams filled her ears. She became aware that she was still on her knees, one hand holding her up and the other between her legs. All at once the heat that had been driving her, urging her on as surely as Ullan's casual encouragement, drained away. It left her hollow, her spine becoming a line of ice spreading out.

"What?" she shook her head, her throat was raw and she realized she'd been screaming too. The other woman's pain/pleasure cries blended with a horrified wail inside her mind. "I didn't mean... What have I done? What am I doing?" She turned her face from the slave, no she was Bronus, and flinched away from Ullan's gaze.

She couldn't believe what she'd been doing, was she so eager to give up everything she'd ever believed? All in the space of two days she was cutting away pieces of her soul and handing them to a Sith lord to use or dispose of as he saw fit. And she had loved it. Little shockwaves of pleasure still jerked at her abdomen and lower. Her hand was still making tiny stroking motions between her legs and she cried out, pulling her hand away and clapping it over her mouth. She could smell herself on her fingers, they were slick and salty against her lips. She fought to keep down the small amount of food she'd eaten, certain that if she vomited she'd get no more.

There is no passion, there is serenity; the words rose in her mind as though from a great distance, as though it had been years since she'd heard them spoken rather than a few days.

He snorted and continued having his way with Bronus. "And that's why you're still useless."

Bronus collapsed onto the table, her hair losing its animation as he slipped out of her. Kicking off his trousers, he marched around to Iocina. "What's the matter, Worm? Can't accept the truth about yourself?"

He grabbed her hair, turning her head up toward him, his manhood hovering next to her face, slick with Bronus' juices. "Look at me, you little worm."

She gasped, eyes flickering open to meet his burning gaze. She could smell him, smelled Bronus on him, and tried to jerk her head away. His grip on her hair kept her head still even as her shoulders shook. Her arms weakened, shaking too hard to hold her up, and she dangled from his fist. She knew her own eyes were glazing in shock and fear.

He shoved her at Bronus, who had curled into herself in a fetal position. "Is this what you want to be, worm? A slave? A scrap of meat for using and discarding? Is this what you want?"

He threw Iocina aside. "Jedi," he spat. "You stink of their temple and their weakness."

She landed hard on her side, yelping as the two stones tore through the rough pouch she'd made for them. They skittered across the floor and came to rest under the table.

"Everything is just going too fast." she panted, distantly she could hear her own voice in her mind whispering a roundelay of the Jedi Code. She tried to block it out, digging one hand into the side of her head and pressing her nails into her temple until they drew blood.

"I don't understand whats happening to me." she said, a soft growl entering her voice. She wished she could rip the words out of her mind and fling them away from her.

"That's life," he said. "It moves fast. Everything changes. One moment at peace, the next moment dead."

He turned away from her. "You're weak. Pathetic. 'Worm' fits you too well, you disgusting creature. The Jedi deserve what Revan's going to do to them, for creating soft, insipid creatures such as you."

"Shut up!" all the voices in her head went suddenly silent, "Shut up, shut up!"

She lunged beneath the table and pitched one of the rocks at his head. She knew she was going to die, she wanted to go down fighting no matter how useless he thought she was. She wasn't going to die weak and pathetic.

"I hate you."

He batted the rock away with his metallic arm, not even deigning to use the Force. "Stay where you are," he commanded Bronus, who'd begun to slink away as the confrontation between two Force-wielders spilled over into open conflict.

He glared down at Iocina. "You don't even know what the word 'hate' means, child. And you won't communicate your pathetic little hate well at all from beneath a table."

She stood, hands balled into white knuckled fists. Her black eyes glared up into his. Heat was spilling through her again, different from the lust she'd already felt. Anger. She'd felt anger on Vilargo, when he'd taunted her into attacking him, when she'd shredded her way through the battle droids, when she'd looked at the female Sith who'd unleashed something so far out of her control that she deserved to be left as bait to keep it busy.

She flicked a hand to the side and then towards him, not at his head this time but at the tender parts between his legs. The stone beneath the table was flung forward, but so were bits and pieces of flotsom from the floor and table. Most of it was only good as a distraction, and she flicked those at his face. At the same time she darted toward him, swinging a blow at his ear.

He twisted like a serpent, avoiding most of her attacks, but the strike at his head, while not impacting as solidly as she'd like, still grazed against his skull. Her rock caught him on his healing ribs, provoking a flare of pain and a corresponding black tide of rage. His hand flashed out and a single tendril of lightning struck in the chest.

She could sense the process as it unfolded, anger to power to release, his thoughts flowing like the bolt that had struck her.

She didn't remember hitting the wall or sliding down it. She lay there, mouth working as she tried to breath, to learn out to breath. Her muscles twitched madly, her stomach clenching into a spasming knot of agony. She saw nothing, black lights swimming before her eyes. Finally she sucked in gasping breath and tried to roll into a crouch, but her muscles just simply refused to comply. She licked her lips, choked, and then spat in the general direction of his presence. Most of it red flecked foam ended up on her own cheek, but she thought it was really the principal of the thing.

He rested his foot on the side of her face. "You aren't ready to challenge me yet, worm. At this rate you may never be."

He reached down with his mechanical hand and grabbed her leg, giving her knee a savage twist. Something popped and pain exploded in her leg. Quickly he grasped her arm and gave her shoulder the same treatment.

"This room will be cleaned up by ship's time fourteenth hour or I’m putting you out the airlock," he said. "Now come along Bronus, we weren't finished."

"Yes master."

She couldn't even scream, only suck in great gulps of air that released in thin pained whines.

Her knee and shoulder felt loose, not broken and not entirely dislocated but she wasn't certain she could fix this. She didn't even know how to go about it, even if she'd had perfect mastery of the force. Left alone she closed her eyes and tried to pull her fragmented thoughts together. Experimentally she reached for the healing energies of the light, and bit off a broken sob as it fluttered just out of reach. Frustration and anger drove it further away and left a sullen whisper of dark power that she didn't even know how to use.

She used her good leg to slide back against the wall and propped herself up. She tried to count hours in her head but time was a confused blur, how long did she have? Her desperation caused the dark to creep closer, and the light to ebb ever further away. Tentatively she opened her mind to it, let it slip beneath her skin leaving her pain dulled if not soothed.

Ullan had fought with similar injuries, walked without showing signs of it. She wasn't quite there yet, she was barely a Padawan.

"You never would have made it as a Jedi," he'd said "Best that you did come this way. Otherwise they would've simply expelled you from the Order." If it hadn't been true when he'd said those words, they were the only truth she was sure of now.

Growling deep in her chest she shoved herself to her feet, anger seething through her as she fought against her own weakness. Pain was nothing, it had to mean nothing or she'd always be meat for someone else's amusement. She drew on the force and reached out to gather the scattered filth that littered the floor, a rough wind full of grit scouring the disgusting floor.

When the room was as clean as it could be made without harsh chemicals she took a discarded ration pack from the table and ripped it open with her teeth. She ate without tasting it, not caring if it was foul or not - the fact that it was sustenance was all that mattered at this point. She added the wrapper to the trash compactor and turned it on.

Settling on the floor once more she tried to focus on her injuries, not just the new agony of her joint but every laceration and bruise. More than one showed in her mind as red inflamed streaks, just beginning to show signs of infection. She couldn't ease the pain and spin healing energies with the dark side, but she could burn each wound clean. She got to work.

He reentered some time later and looked around. He sat down without comment. When Bronus entered, sweaty and disheveled but still managing to look radiant and sensual. He raised a hand and she slipped him a half-full bottle. He took a drink and then waved a hand. "Continue cleaning the ship," he said.

After Bronus departed he beckoned Iocina with a single finger, gesturing to the floor at his feet.

Her abused body protested movement, but she did what she could to funnel her pain into anger. She was shaking from the effort but crawled across the floor. She lost a bit of the composure she'd manufactured when she forced her weight onto her knees, nearly blinded by pain for a moment. She knelt, face as smooth as she could make it but pain lines had etched themselves around her eyes and mouth.

He reached down and pushed at her shoulder with a single metal finger. "What have you learned, worm?"

She hissed out a slow breath, eyes slipping shut as she tried to refocus.

"I hate how weak I am." she said flatly, "I hate that the Jedi made me weak, raised me up to be nothing more than a pathetic pawn. When Rens turned on them the Jedi turned on me." she had to stop for a moment, a tiny flicker of real hate stealing her breath, "They never would have let me take the trials, I was tainted by the teachings of a weak master and they knew I'd break and fall at the first test of my virtue." she spat the last word as though she wanted to clean the taste of it from her mouth.

"Partly true. You would have failed because you have the potential to be strong. I know the speech they make about how the darkness is faster and easier, but not stronger. They're right in a way- it's not about being angry, it's about using the anger. Intelligently."

He pushed her again. "It's not enough to be angry. You need to focus your hatred. We are never as strong as when we have enemies." He tapped his lightsaber. "Besides me, if course, who would you kill if you had them under a blade right now?"

"Vrook Lamar." the name came easily and it was bitter in her mouth, "He forced me to meditate for hours on my master's failure to teach me. He wanted me to denounce Yuld Rens publicly." Those were hours she'd never get back, full of the pain of her master's betrayal. He'd accused her of wanting to follow Rens' path, that her emotional attachment made her vulnerable. Did he even know that his vendetta against attachment had made her cling to the hope her Master still cared for her and would return? She'd resisted every attempt he'd made to force her to admit her master's teachings were tainted. She passed her anger and resentment through the bond unconsciously, needing Ullan to understand what had led her to follow Rens to Vilargo. She didn't want him to think it had been for a stupid reason and admitted without words that she'd half expected to fall when she'd left. She was only now admitting it to herself.

"He took his old friend's fall personally and he wanted to prove it was Rens who had failed me and not the Jedi who had failed all those who'd joined Revan in the war." She shook her head, "He's the one who can't let go of attachments, and his strongest attachment is to his own self righteousness."

"Ah Vrook," he said. "We have a history of our own."

He reached down and stroked her cheek. "Follow the path, and someday you'll get the chance to kill him, if I don't do it first."

His grip found her throat again. "But there will be no babysitting and no gentle exile if you fail. You can already see that this is no forgiving and enlightened atmosphere. I fully expect your weakness to be the death of you."

"Yes master," she murmured, meeting his eyes. She knew this was her last chance to turn back, to die as a Jedi in the light. She wondered if he could see that in her, feel it through the bond as she gave it up. She was sure there were more little pieces of Padawan Denara that she'd give, or he'd take away by force. She had no illusions that her transformation would be a gentle one, she had weaknesses and ignorant beliefs that needed to be rooted out. He'd said he'd love to break her. If that was what it took to set her on the path, she'd submit to it willingly.

"I think we need to kill a Jedi," he said. "It's been a while. Yuld almost counted, but he was stuck halfway through the door and didn't know where he wanted to go. Well, after we tend to some business..."

He rose to his feet and turned to the door. "Come on. We're going to spar in the cargo bay."

She stood very carefully, testing her weight on her injured knee. Shards of pain there and in her arm made her suck in a breath but she let it out in hiss. Straightening her back she followed him, two steps behind, limping only every few steps. She didn't ask 'How can I fight when I'm injured,' because he did it. She doubted his own injuries had fully healed but he showed no sign of pain. She wanted that, the power to work through pain. She had a feeling he knew a way to turn his pain into something he could use, and was sure she'd have a great deal of practice ahead of her.

"Pain is a nearly universal signaling mechanism for developed life. Much like fear, it is an essential component for survival," he said as they stepped into the cargo bay. "Pain signals damage and impairment. But for a Sith, pain is so much more. Pain can be fuel. To embrace pain is to embrace power."

He stepped around a listing crate of household goods, half of which had fallen free and scattered across the floor. "Pain is a river, and first you must learn to ride the river, then eventually you must learn to direct it. To do that, you must learn to love the pain."

For a moment she was at a loss, "Enjoy the pain?" she asked. She had sensed that Bronus had seemed to like it, but the concept was foreign to her. Blocking pain out enough to continue on, to run or fight with wounds, that made sense.

"Pain, in many species, induces a number of balancing reactions. In humans, it specifically induces the secretion of various natural counter agents, which can induce certain mental reactions to calm the nervous system."

He turned and prodded her back against a crate. "The secret is to work the blurred line between an outright pleasant sensation and an outright unpleasant one."  
He placed his metal hand over her heart, pinning her against the crate, then raised his flesh hand. Ghostly touches of the Force began to tickle gently across her breasts.

She had to close her eyes for a moment as her shoulder pressed painfully into the crate. She shifted slightly, as much as the cold metal holding her in place allowed. Black eyes flew open and she looked down at her chest. He wasn't touching her with his fingers, but she could feel delicate brushes against the sensitive skin.

She felt her face redden as her nipples hardened, whether from the pleasant sensation or the cold air. She'd been doing far more obscene and disturbing things only a few hours ago and she wondered if she'd ever stop feeling this frustrating embarrassment. She concentrated on the gentle stroking touches, soon realizing that the pain in her shoulder, although still present, felt less immediate. The two opposing pain/pleasure feelings seemed to cancel each other out.

The dance continued spreading from her breasts along her body, down her sides, along her arms, a gentle wave of Force caresses. However, he also began weaving in small pinpricks, stinging stabs that seemed to mix unpredictably with the more pleasant sensations. She found herself writhing beneath his hand, shoulder aching as more darts of pain made her skin twitch. She closed her eyes and focused her mind on only the pleasant strokes, attempting as she'd always done to simply block the pain. It kept slipping out of her grip, a pain in her arm distracting her from a caress down one thigh.

She shook her head, brow furrowing as she tried again. For every little pain, a little touch soothed it away. For every caress, a sharp sting. Finally she felt herself relax, something in her mind shifting to accommodate this new idea. Pleasure from pain. She half slipped into a nearly meditative state, accepting the pain with the pleasure and working to forge a path between the two.

As she began to relax into it, he raised the intensity in a gradual curve, the speed and variations increasing, until her body was a lightning fast kaleidoscope of pleasure and pain. She started to tense, muscles seizing as the onslaught intensified. She forced herself to relax again, to just be and accept the pain and the pleasure both. As she dropped deeper into her mind she found she could no longer tell the difference, both sensations causing pain and pleasure. Her breath quickened and she found herself pushing her shoulder back into the crate with more force, the larger pain driving the little pains into unimportance. There was a brief moment where she was there, pain becoming nothing but intense pleasure, but she couldn't quite hold it and made a small helpless sound in the back of her throat.

"That's not enough," he growled. "We don't stop because it's hard, worm!"

He stepped back, the onslaught continuing. But now, a vice grip of the Force took hold of her nipples, pulling them up and away from her body, forcing her to her toes and dragging her forward like a puppet on a marionette, adding fresh pains from her knee into the equation.

She couldn't stop a small scream from tearing free, her body arching against the unseen bonds. For a long moment she hung in a state of pure pain. She felt that she was pain.

Deep breath. I had it, I can give myself to it completely if I just... The bottom dropped out of her stomach, a reeling sensation of vertigo both physical and mental. She fell into that place she'd found inside her and discovered it was the same place that had wanted to make the slave bleed. She closed one hand and imagined gripping her pain and making a small gesture. She dragged it into that dark well she'd sensed and let it pool within it. Her other hand grasped the memory of pleasure still lingering and did the same. She twisted, spinning them together into one whole, then released this new wonderful/awful thing to fill her skin.

She hung there, fully relaxed, and moaned.

"There," he said, guiding her around the room. "Now dance for me, Worm."

The grip pulled her faster, the explosions of pain rocketing along her body now, even as he used the Force to move her arms and legs. It was a dazzling display of fine control. Soft gasps spilled out of her, her body taking the pain and making it perfect/terrible. She could feel the low liquid warmth she'd felt kneeling on the floor with Bronus splayed on the table as their master took her. Wetness trickled between her legs, sliding down her thighs beneath the last bit of clothing she wore. She wanted to touch, but her body was not in her control.

At the end he dropped her at his feet, face down on her knees.

"Follow your instincts," he told her once again.

She ground her injured knee beneath her, unconsciously adopting the full submission as she slid her hand down her body. The pain radiating from the injury drove a lance of pure ecstasy through her, blooming into her first true taste of lust as she unfastened the catch and found the wet and burning place between her legs.

She abased herself at his feet and drove herself over the edge, convulsing as she came. She ended on her side, bare chest heaving as she looked up at him with wide dilated eyes. She raised a hand up to him, "Master, please."

 

"Not yet," he said. "You have to earn that, worm. But you can clean my boot."

He slid his boot in front of her face.

Need warred with a flicker of fury, but anger wasn't what had taken control of her body. She rolled her eyes up at him, meeting his gaze before lowering her head and slowly running her tongue over the black leather. The grit that coated her tongue tasted like Vilargo, like a dry stinging wind. It took her several tries to lap the boot clean, her mouth and throat full of sand. Holding herself up on her injured arm and resting on her knees was distracting. Her body knew she needed respite, but her mind told her it was bliss.

"Now we spar," he said. He threw his lightsaber across the room and drove his metal fist down at her skull at the same time. He wasn't holding back, she could sense the intent behind the blow: if she didn't evade he would crush her skull and then probably throw the corpse out of the airlock.

She lunged to the side and turned onto her back, rolling up to her feet. She felt his hand sweep through strands of her hair and heard the impact on the reinforced floor as she leapt toward the flung saber. It had barely impacted the wall before she pulled it into her fist, igniting it and taking a djem-so stance. Unlike the first time she'd held this blade she didn't wait for him to make a move, she threw herself at him full out. Before, she'd thought he was Rens, that she was on a stupid righteous mission to save her old master. Darth Ullan was not a weak Jedi who thought he could dominate her without making her suffer.

He didn't deploy the cortosis shards immediately, instead deflecting her strikes.

There was something strange about his footing, something she recognized right around the moment he deflected a strike and gave her an open-handed slap in the face. He was imitating the footwork and style of Vrook Lamar. All that was missing was a lightsaber and Vrook's trademark Ataru opening.

She moved in the direction of his slap, only taking part of the blow on her cheek.

She hissed, adjusting her stance slightly to best counter form IV. She felt rage blossom in her chest, the pain in her joints vanished to her senses.

Vrook had chastised her use of Djem-so, criticizing its tendency to overwhelm and dominate opponents. Hypocrisy , his form was just as aggressive. Always convinced his way was the One True Way. She raised the blade high and slashed it down in a well practiced 'falling avalanche' attack, ignoring the protests of her shoulder.

He shifted quickly, guiding the blade to the side, where it gouged through the deck. Wires severed by the blade sprayed up through the floor.

"A Jedi empties the mind," he mimicked. "Only at peace can one allow the Force to speak through them."

He attacked her, shifting to Juyo and pressing her with the metal arm, then kicking out at her knee.

"I can see your weakness," he taunted.

Her knee failed her with a pop, the strained joint giving way beneath his heel. Her leg collapsed under her, forcing her to take her weight on her other knee. She screamed in utter rage, true hate filling her eyes as she focused on his chest. She remembered, when he'd ordered her to pop his shoulder back in place, the broken ribs she'd sensed. She focused her hatred and thrust an open palm towards his side. She thought she'd touched the dark side, but what had come to her before was a teasing thread of shadow working its way into her soul. Now it filled her, bringing a vicious strength to the blow.

He took the blow, reeling away. Once more she felt the circuit close, pain to power, and as he fell back he thrust his hands out, a wall of Force picking her up like a leaf and throwing her into the wall.

Her shoulder followed her knee, dangling useless against her side. She clenched her fist, coiling all her pain and rage into a cold spot in her heart. Every resentment she'd ever had, every slight she'd endured since her master's fall, every Padawan and initiate who had begun to avoid her condensed, and she added to it her new-found hatred of her own weakness.

She grasped the bond, much as she'd done to pass her strength to him, and shoved a spear of searing ice through it. He staggered backwards as pain washed back through the channel to her, a bond of raging fire. Lost in the wash, he pinned her to the wall, a fist crushing her against the metal.

"Well played," he growled. "But that wouldn't work on Vrook."

He snapped his lightsaber away, back to his own hand, killing the blade.

"It wouldn't be as powerful," she gasped, "But I don't need the bond to do that." she sucked in a pained breath, "He feared it, that I could feed power to the Force sensitives around me. Now I know why."

"It wouldn't work as well on him. He closes himself on. Not even his padawans get much connection with him."

He kept her pinned in place as he talked, a thoughtful look in his eye. "He's one of the greatest warriors in the Order, because he's one of the most fearful. If only he allowed himself to flow with that, he would make a fine Sith. But unlike some, I'm not interested in recruiting every Jedi in the Order. Vrook, I would rather see dead."

He pressed against her. "Now, you need to channel your pain and drive it downward, to heal yourself. It's not as elegant as the way the Jedi do it. This is about making the Force obey you, not drifting with its tides or other Jedi nonsense. It leaves its marks, but Sith relish their marks, their aches, their old wounds and their fresh ones. Pain and scars remind us that we live, that we revel in our lives. Unlike the Jedi."

He pressed his mouth against her bruised lips, crushing them down, tasting the salty tang of her bloody mouth.

She reached once more to grasp the pool of pain/pleasure she'd engendered in herself, there was more of it now as her leg and arm tingled with pinpricks of electricity. If she let them stay the way they were they'd start to go numb, and then she'd be in real trouble. She remembered the way she'd slid his shoulder back into place, the lessons she'd had in the small enclave med-center. She knew how to do this, but her Jedi teachings focused on doing things slowly and carefully.

She focused on his mouth on her abraded lips, the coppery taste of blood on her tongue her throat that still felt raw from screaming. Little pains at first, feeding the pool of power that only waited to be released. She let it go and suddenly she was on fire, screaming into his mouth as power surged through her. It crawled through her skin, knitting muscle and moving bone. She could feel it in every scratch and cut she'd received. Before she'd managed to cleanse her wounds of infection, but now it felt as every wound was being cauterized. She could feel a split in her lower lip close, then reopen as she intensified the kiss, her screams becoming soft moans. Her hips bucked once and she went limp.

He let her drop to the floor.

"This isn't 'falling to the dark side' the way those mewling cowards would have you believe. This is liberation."

He tapped her nose. "I've foreseen the fall of the Jedi. Cut apart by their own allies, hunted like animals throughout the galaxy. It will be glorious."

A slow smile spread across her face, breath slowing as she looked up at him. "Good." she said as her eyes rolled up, falling into blissful unconsciousness.


	3. The Great and the Mighty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're not shooting! We're boarding! Revan is on that ship and he's in trouble."
> 
> A lance of fire erupted from a nearby destroyer, slashing into the bridge of Revan's ship.
> 
> "No!" Ullan screamed. "Malak! You kriffing moron! I'll kill you!"

When she awoke, it was in pitch darkness. She felt strangely confined, yet weightless.

She could hear her own breathing, loud and echoing in her ears. Raising her arms experimentally she found they were encased in thick heavy material, her hands in cumbersome gloves. 'What the hells?' she thought, reaching up to touch her face. A helmet?

Frowning she ran her hands down the front her her body, her sides, and realized with dawning horror that she was in the sort of pressurized suit that maintenance techs wore when making emergency repairs. She twisted and flailed backwards, finding a ropy tether embedded in the suit between her shoulder blades.

An almost hysterical giggle bubbled up in her, 'He said he'd shove me out the airlock. He's a man of his word.' She instantly seized control of her breathing, taking shallow sips of air as she tried to sink into a healing trance. It evaded her far too long for comfort but she managed a deep meditative state that was almost the same. Her breathing and heartbeat slowed, her body making use of every scrap of oxygen.

And so she drifted in the darkness, in space, as lonely as any sentient could be. She felt the flicker of his presence, a rise and fall of emotion and intensity.It would seem that Bronus was getting another workout.Something brushed up against her suddenly, bumping into her suit. It probed at her leg tentatively.

She forced herself to remain still, lightly probing the intruder. There wasn't much that could live out here, and she sensed what it was immediately. A feeling of complete irony sprang into her mind; she'd have laughed if it wouldn't use an unnecessary amount of air.

A mynock. An ataru. It was ridiculous, but her amusement was wiped away. She wondered if Ullan knew it was out here, the namesake of Vrook's lightsaber style. She stared into the nothingness and lashed out, a touch of power that slowly rent the wings from the creature. There was no sound in space but she felt its pain and smiled.

Her thoughts drifted, dropping down into the ship beneath her and drank in the emotions coming from Bronus. A stab of jealousy reminded her how badly she'd wanted her master above her. She was also perversely angry that she was dirty and disheveled. Her thick curls felt greasy and limp, pressed against her face inside the enveloping helmet. Bronus was clean and perfumed, and she imagined her face buried in the mattress with their master taking her from behind.

She realized suddenly that she could lash out at Bronus, even kill her, from here. She also knew she'd be punished for damaging her master's property. She had to focus again on controlling her breathing if she didn't want to suffocate, she didn't know how long she'd been out here or how much air she had left. She sensed more mynocks slithering across the hull now, attracted to something in her vicinity. Suddenly a message scrolled across the inner faceplate of the suit.

Worthless apprentice. If you haven't woken in time to read this you'll probably just asphyxiate out there. Otherwise, at some point you may wish to find your way back into the ship before you run out of air. I have no idea how much was actually left in the bottles. Also if you could do something about the mynock infestation on the hull that would be greatly appreciated.

"Kriff," she muttered, casting her mind out in a net to count the vermin surrounding her. Twenty-three of the filthy life forms were closing in. Blasting them out into space was one option, but it wasn't particularly satisfying and now she was more than a little angered at her situation. She'd stupidly thought this little jaunt on the ships exterior had been the lesson, and she called herself ten kinds of idiot.

The mynock with the destroyed wings was still flopping around, floating just above the surface of the hull. She snapped a hand out, catching as many of the things as she could reach and gave them the same treatment. She'd reached twelve of the things to her left, and shivered. She could have killed them, but she wanted them to suffer. She felt as though another little piece of herself had been cut off, gifted to her master.

She could feel the ship behind her, knew she needed to get to the airlock quickly. She realized she'd need to move herself instead of anything else and she'd never tried to do that. It took too many precious seconds to contemplate it and three of the things had latched their tiny talons onto her legs and were crawling up towards the power pack she could sense attached to her back. She probed at the thing and discovered it was well secured, and wouldn't be easy to remove. She didn't have that kind of time.

She drew on the small ball of fury that she was accumulating inside her, no where near as deep and vast as her master's but it was barely enough. She shoved, having no more time to take pleasure in tormenting the things, and sent them careening away from her into open space. Only a short time and they would drift back. She thought quickly and made a desperate gesture towards her feet, making a cushion of force that she could find purchase on. She wasn't sure if this would work but she had no more time to try. She could feel herself growing light headed, and had no idea if it was psycho-somatic or she was truly running out of air.

She pushed off, shoving herself back towards the airlock. She grabbed behind her and found a protrusion on the hull and used it to turn around, finding her hand was inches from the crank that opened the seal. She grasped it and turned, feeling it give under her hands reluctantly. Like the rest of the ship it was old and slow.  
She shoved herself inside, using the force to jerk the door closed behind her. She slammed a fist on the pressure regulator and dropped bruisingly to the floor and gravity took hold and air rushed into the vacuum. She frantically popped the seal on the suit and shoved off the helmet. Sucking in a lungful of air she found she had the breath to laugh. She doubled over and rested a gloved hand on the wall, shoulders shaking as she cackled.

Eventually she got hold of herself and made her way into the cargo hold, slowly divesting herself of the suit and hung it in the locker nearest her. Curiously she took a look at the air tank, reaching to plug the thing into wall to recharge it. It was two thirds full. She rested her head against it and found herself laughing again in relief. It had all been in her head that she was running out of air.

He was sitting in the galley, where he'd rigged a couple of chairs into some kind of settee. A plate of rations rested at his side, cooked and prepared with sufficient artistry as to make them powerfully appealing.

Bronus sat on the floor at his side, eating a rather less-appealing bowl of some kind of nutrient mush.

"Ah. You made it. The mynocks?"

"Dying, maimed, or floating in space." She stood with her hands loose at her sides, her first instinct had been to fold them in front of her as though she were reporting to the counsel but she'd stopped herself. She could smell the food, but refused to look at it. She had no desire to give herself any illusions, she'd be getting the same as the slave or another plain ration pack.

 

He took a slow, thoughtful bite, savoring the flavor. "By the way, until further notice, the only meals you may have will be those you take from another. No getting your own."

He reclined back comfortably. Bronus glanced up at her, then back at her own half-empty bowl.

She shrugged and looked down. With absolute ease could reach out and take it out of Bronus' hands, but a thought crossed her mind. He would be more entertained if she did it another way, and something inside her agreed.  
She cast a sweet smile down at other woman, "Slave, give me your food."

Bronus crawled to Iocina's feet and, eyes averted, held the bowl up with both hands, making an offering of the meal.

She took it in one hand, patting the top of Bronus' head as though she were an obedient pet. She considered sitting on the floor and hesitated. She was still uncertain about many things. All she knew about the Sith she'd mostly learned since Revan's return as the Dark Lord, and a few sparse histories Rens had shown her in a holocron. The rest was creche-tales meant to scare younglings. She didn't think anyone had ever done a treatise on Sith culture, at least not that any but the Jedi counsel or senior masters could access.

She decided to err on the side of caution. She'd had instruction on many different types of government, and thought back to one of the cultures that used the full submission bow. She stayed standing, as she hadn't been given permission to sit. In Tertallan society for example, no one was to sit in front of someone who ranked above them in the nobility without being given leave. She ate standing, not wolfing the food down but not taking her time either.

Bronus crawled back to his side, empty-handed, and sat obediently, her face carefully blanked to an emotionless mask. Nevertheless, hunger churned inside her. He took another slow, savoring bite.

"So I see you have learned the power of channeled fear now. Fear is perhaps our greatest tool, both ours and others. Only a fool doesn't admit to it to oneself. Only a greater fool doesn't use it."

Swallowing the last bite of the tasteless gruel she nodded, "Yes master."

There was a very small amount still scraped along the inside of the bowl and as she handed the bowl back to Bronus she smiled again. "Clean this up. If you eat the dregs, I'll know." Another little bit of her soul gone, and she couldn't make herself want it back. It felt too good. Bronus' fear and hunger fluttered inside her head and it felt wonderful. She'd barely had control of her own life, she'd belonged to the temple where she had no power and no respect. It was ironic that she'd become more free kneeling to a Sith than she would ever have been granted if she'd stayed and been a good obedient lackey for the counsel.

As Bronus moved to obey, her sheet of white hair obscuring her face, Iocina turned her face to Ullan. "How can I serve you Master?"

"We're going to Furzbane, it's a lovely world full of swamps and large beasts and a collection of diethylene chloride manufacturing facilities. Also some people I know, who know some people who know some people. We're going to drop some choice information about what is going on back on... whatever that dustball we just left was named before the Devourer devoured it," he dismissed the death of a world with a negligent wave of his hand. "And you are going to play as one of my obedient little lapslaves and then if I need someone killed, you'll take care of it."

She looked down at herself, filthy and dressed only in the ragged remains of her Jedi clothing. Quirking a corner of her mouth up she said "Am I to be a slave you are breaking, or should I go into the hold and look through the crates for something else?"

"Yes. Get Bronus to clean you and help dress you."

He ate part of another morsel, then spat it back into the bowl. "Dispose of this, as well."

The bowl wafted over to her on a current of the force.

"Thank you Master," she took his bowl to Bronus, and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Clean this up as well, and meet me in the cargo hold." she paused, looking down in the bowl, "You can finish that if you like."

The crates in the hold were mostly full of household things, kitchen utensil and the like. In one she found silk coverlets in jewel colors, and in an adjacent one several pairs of shoes that had to be intended for dancing girls. There were no costumes for the hypothetical brothel workers but some she could work with. When Bronus joined her they found enough odds and ends to make a start. She tersely explained what they'd been instructed to do and continued hunting.

"Mistress, there are some things stowed in the Masters quarters that might be useful." she murmured, lifting everything in her arms awkwardly. Bronus had even discovered a hand held clothing repair device that would have to do to make costumes.

"Come then." she stalked through the ship into the small room to find that the bed had been neatly made up. The floor was clean now, and what had seemed two days ago to be a pile of dirty laundry as tall as her hip was revealed to be a table and chair.

Opening a drawer she found a jumbled mess that appeared to be cosmetics. She eyed them with trepidation, resigning herself to having it applied to her face.

Turning back to Bronus motioned to the bed, "Do what you can to make clothing with the blankets and instruct me on what I need to know to impersonate something like you.

Bronus set to work.

"I am not sure where to begin, mistress. But to begin with, you must make your master the center of all existence and let him worry about all other things. This must show in your eyes and actions. When he is at rest, stay close and touch him in gentling ways, rub and pet. If there is food and drink serve him, and always make your adoration most plain."

Nodding she stripped out of the last of her clothing, kicking the filthy garments into a corner. "I can manage that I suppose, I can watch what you do for the rest."

She sat down on the floor, watching with her head propped on one hand as Bronus worked. "When you're done you can bathe me."

"Yes mistress Worm," she said, collecting the sonic cleanser.

Even for the simple act of cleaning, her touch was soft, assured, and relaxing. "Make the comfort of the master your only priority," she said. "Every touch must be calculated to his pleasure. It is simple to focus if you let all the outside universe fade."

She reveled in being clean, loved the feeling of Bronus gentle hands on her skin. She desperately wanted to put her own hands and mouth on the beautiful woman again, but two things stopped her. Firstly, she needed the slave to instruct her in that as well and didn't want to feel humiliated for her ignorance at the moment. Secondly, she didn't have permission. Bronus was Ullan's slave, and she had no right to his property and the only commands she could give were the ones passed through her from her master.

She remained silent as Bronus clothed her, shifting to fit into the tight silken garment. Her breasts were unbound beneath it, pressed tight against the fabric, and the tiny excuse for underwear felt nonexistent. She enjoyed watching Bronus struggle into the skin tight silk, the dark fabric leaving her ghostly pale.

Iocina sat at the table while Bronus knelt and did arcane things with the cosmetics, there seemed to have been a mirror attached to the table at one point but it had been damaged to uselessness. She was impressed when the slave applied her own makeup without the aid of one. Practice she supposed.

She beckoned Bronus after her and returned to her master, slipping into the room quietly on bare feet.

He looked her over and shook his head. "Slouch and loosen up. Fools from most species underestimate attractive females. Your danger is in direct proportion to how non-threatening you appear."

He circled around her. "The best lies are the truest lies. Do you fear me Worm?"

"Yes Master." she said, forcing herself not to turn to keep her eyes on him. She followed him instead with her senses, focusing on his presence. Her shoulders shifted and she cocked her hip to the side in what was probably a poor imitation of the stance Bronus made look instinctive. She thought for the first time that Bronus was made to be a slave, it was ingrained in every move she made.

"Show hints of that, with eyes and gestures. If I project irritation, show them that you may be vessel that suffers for it. But at the same time, be loose with others, fluid and graceful. Even the trained killers we're meeting will have no knowledge of your true capabilites. You could kill them with ease. Let that capability keep you relaxed enough to strike at precisely the right moment. And if I say 'Well then, we'll just be going' then start to kill everyone in the room with whatever means come to hand."

She hunched her shoulder very slightly, as though expecting a blow, turning to watch him with wide eyes. She tried out his instructions, trying not to overdo it. In her minds eyes she saw Bronus looking up at her as Iocina threatened to break her jaw and copied the slightly knit brow and parted lips.

Then she knelt, sweeping her curls to the side and looking up through her lashes in a seductive movement.

"I can do this Master." she said, but thought about how she'd never killed anyone before. She couldn't count anyone caught in the thermal detonator blast that destroyed the inn. That hadn't been personal, she hadn't seen their faces as they died. 'I can do this.' she told herself.

"You'd better be. We can't call on the Republic or Jedi reinforcements if things go wrong. It's the way it's meant to be, we live or die on our own merits." He jumped to his feet suddenly and marched through her as though she wasn't even there. "Now let's go land this piece of junk."

She dropped back instead of trying to move out of the way, he was already too close to dodge. He walked over her, his boot barely missing her hand and pinning her down by her hair for a moment. She grinned and climbed to her feet. She was glad one side of her dress was slit to the hip, it would save time when they had to fight. When, not if, she was sure.

She followed, sliding into the co-pilots seat and got to work preparing to drop the 'Maiden' out of hyperspace.

"Master, are we going to rename this piece of dung or take another ship when we leave here?"

"Something new. We'll scout a new ship before the meeting and arrange a change of ownership. The next one might not be any better- I follow my instincts with these things. And this junkpile did get us out alive."

He reached across the console and grasped the lever. "Departing hyperspace... now."

Realspace flashed back before them, to a backdrop of battle. He grabbed the control yoke to veer them off as a Republic cruiser went up in a ball of flame. Sith Destroyers slugged it out with their opposite numbers, firing massive turbolaser bolts that would vaporize their puny craft without even beginning to expend their titanic energies.

"What moron starts a war over this useless place!" Ullan snapped. He was maneuvering the Maiden to the best of her sluggish abilities. "Get up on the topside gun and shoot anything that shows undue interest in us, Sith or Republic!"

She hiked up the long split skirt and ran for the ladder leading up to the gun turret. Dropping in she took a quick glance around the small chamber to familiarize herself with the controls. It wasn't terribly different from the configurations she'd practiced with in sims. Secured in the chair she flipped on the HUD and swiveled to find a target.

The Sith and Republic armies were taking little notice of other ships in the system, indeed she could see another cargo ship making its escape without pursuit. Something, perhaps someone on a larger vessel sensing their presence, alerted a small squadron of fighters to veer off from the main battle and head in their direction.

She picked one off almost immediately and sneered, they should have known that appearances were deceiving and even a beat-up freighter could be deadly. Overconfidence killed two more before the other four became wiser and changed tactics.

The ship rocked as fire strafed the shields, and she hoped any kriffing mynocks left on the hull were having a bad time. Ullan was either a fantastic pilot or the Maiden was more maneuverable than she looked. She was betting more on her master's skill than naught.

The final fighter jinked out of the way of her shot and fled back towards the battle and she grinned viciously as Ullan gave her a tail chase to end the pilots miserable life.

"See anymore headed this way?" she had to shout to be heard, the comm connection with the cockpit was non-functional.

He didn't answer, suddenly veering toward one of the Sith Destroyers. It had been boarded, Republic ships battening on it line parasites.

"Worm!" he called suddenly. "Get ready to fight!"

"I'm on it!" she shouted, then paused and added "Am I aiming at both or do you have a preference this time?"

"We're not shooting! We're boarding! Revan is on that ship and he's in trouble."

A lance of fire erupted from a nearby destroyer, slashing into the bridge of Revan's ship.  
"No!" Ullan screamed. "Malak! You kriffing moron! I'll kill you!"

The Maiden twisted around, aiming at the other ship. The link between Ullan and Iocina opened wide, flooded with berserk rage and grief.

She shoved strength down the bond, taking his rage into her and making it her own. She had feared Revan, been manipulated to fear and abjure him, but knowing what she did now she was growing to respect him.

"Right!" she tumbled out of the turret and back into the co-pilots seat. She grabbed the utility knife that had likely carved the ships name into the console and quickly rent the trailing bottom of the dress to free her legs so she would trip on it.

He opened a comm channel,speaking a terse series of code phrases,finally concluding with a simple threat. "Tell Malak if he doesn't let me land, I'll gut this kriffing fleet."

He pulled the headset off and killed the connection. "I actually don't have anything set up like that, but Malak doesn't know that. So he probably won't have us shot down."

The sensors showed a flight of fighters breaking off to approach them.

"Probably," he repeated. Through the link she felt him coiling like a spring, storing energy for an explosion to come.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly she prepared to lunge for the ladder again, although she knew it was likely futile. By the time she got in the gun well they'd be dead.

"If we do board what should I do with Bronus?"

"Don't worry about a kriffing slave at a time like this!" he exploded. "If we live and she's still here when we get back, good. If not, she's just a slave."  
He shook his head. "Moron."

The fighters fell in to either side as they tore through space to the destroyer.

She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes for a brief moment. This little piece of herself didn't seem to want to dislodge itself, she decided that one would probably take awhile.

The ship dropped into the landing bay, engaging the repulsorlifts at the last moment as it crunched down heavily on its damaged underside.

He slapped the release for the ramp, then hefted his lightsaber in hand for a moment, studying the hilt.

"Come on," he growled. He barged down the main corridor, sending Bronus flying aside out of his potential path with a flick of his wrist. The woman hit the wall with a bang and tumbled down, her eyes glazed and blood blossoming from a head wound. Fractured skull? Simple bloody laceration? He was well past her and beyond caring as he stomped down the ramp.

At the foot of the ramp, a trio of Sith acolytes awaited. The first stepped forward and bowed deeply to Ullan. "Darth Malak, First Lord of the Sith, greets you, Darth Ullan, and bids you join him to offer your service," she said.

Without warning, Ullan slashed out with his lightsaber, beheading the acolyte. As the decapitated body tumbled to the floor, he held his position, aiming the lightsaber at the other two.

"Worm, you have a lightsaber now," he jerked his head toward the lightsaber clipped to the dead acolyte's twitching corpse. "You two, take me to Malak."

Before she'd left the ship she'd shoved any weakness she felt into a hard ball and shoved it down. She fed the burning fury, kindling it into a more powerful flame.

She scooped the saber up a glanced at it long enough to find the activator switch. It had a few other small dials below the emitter, and she recognized that the blade length could be varied, shrank to dagger length or as long as a javelin. The first was useful enough, the second she'd have to think about. The actual casing of the thing was a bit stupid, the damn thing had platinum scrolling on a gold background and the pommel was jewel encrusted. She fought to keep from rolling her eyes and held it at her side.

She followed her master and the acolytes, precisely two steps behind. In the lair of the devourer he'd told her to put on her Sith face, and she'd discovered she only needed to drop her mask. She dropped it now.

The pair of acolytes led them to the lift, placing themselves as far away as possible from the angry Sith Lord. She felt a flicker of amusement from him, the familiar contempt and a joy she could now put a name to: his taste for making others afraid was positively sexual in nature.

The lift opened onto the bridge of the Leviathan, a bustling hive of activity. The Republic fleet was falling back in disarray, a puppet with its strings cut. A pair of cruisers sliced through the void, bravely and suicidally exposing themselves to the entire Sith battle line, their firepower focused on a single interdictor vessel. As its deflectors crumpled under their torrent of fire, the figure at the end of the bridge walkway roared angrily.

"Do not allow Shan to escape!"

A man in uniform stepped up, his insignia close enough to Republic naval ranks to be read- an admiral.

"My lord Ullan?" he said quietly.

"Saul, old friend," Ullan said. "It's good to see you. I think you have a battle to run."

He stepped past the admiral as Malak pivoted toward them. The bridge seemed to narrow down, all existence blotting out but for the presence of the two dark lords of the Sith.

"Ullan," Malak said, his voice distorted by his prosthetic. "So good of you to come. You can be the first to swear fealty."

She felt the coil wind tighter in Ullan. "I had come to discuss the succession, yes."

"Lord Malak... the Liberator has jumped to lightspeed." The comm tech was visibly terrified, his face a white sheet sheened by sweat. Malak pivoted on his heel. "Communicate my displeasure to captains Fodun, Klarz, and H'suk and then inform their seconds of their promotions. Admiral, finish the remnants of the Republic fleet."

He turned back to Ullan. "Join me, old friend."

He strode down the walkway past Ullan and Iocina. Behind him, one of the Republic cruisers was now fighting a losing battle against gravity, sagging into a terminal dive from orbit.

Ullan watched the mighty ship tip over. "There is always somebody having a worse day," he muttered softly.

Iocina felt a cold knot in her stomach. Had Darth Malak turned on his master? She took her eyes off the battle to focus on Ullan, sending a thread of thought down the bond. Not words, only the sense that she was prepared for whatever he had in mind.

They entered a large, shadowy chamber. A pair of construction droids were assembling what appeared to be a throne.  
"Ostentatious but necessary," Malak said. Darkness seemed to roll off of him, especially in his inner sanctum. His air was casual, smugly triumphant.

"Cut the nonsense, Malak," Ullan snapped.

Malak whirled, his hand not quite touching the hilt of his lightsaber. "Choose your words carefully, old friend."

"You've known me for how long and you think that is possible?" Ullan said.

"You've been with us from the beginning," Malak said. "You were with us at Duro, at Althin, on the hunt for Cassus. And that alone is why I didn't swat your ridiculous ship from the sky. Don't make me kill you now, Ullan."

"Maybe I'll finish the job Revan started on your face!" Ullan said.

Suddenly a dozen lightsabers ignited around them, shadowy Sith acolytes emerging from the darkness.

"Let's assume," Malak said. "Let's assume you survive my acolytes. Let's assume, as ridiculous as it seems, that you then defeat me. Then what? Revan is dead, Ullan. You've always been the ultimate realist. So leads this fleet? Who leads the war? Not you,and we both know it. You've never been a field commander, let alone a supreme leader. "

"I'll put Saul in charge."

"You know as well as I that the fleet would only accept a Sith in command. Without me, the fleet falls to infighting. The Jedi pick up the pieces. I know you hate that idea above all others."

"I'm not seating fealty and I'll be damned if I'm having anything to do with this fleet. "

Malak nodded. "I want you to do what you have been doing. What always say you apart was your corrosive nature. You can find the weak points and continue to irritate them. You continue to be an agent of chaos. You hate the Republic above all else."

"Flattery, Malak."

"Truth."

Iocina kept her eyes on the back of Ullan's head and kept a blank look on her face. She wanted to look around her, not necessarily out of curiosity, but because she didn't like being surrounded by so many Sith who might decide to attack her master. She kept her muscles loose and the saber in her hand in its Shien grip along her forearm. She had no belt to hang it on and she didn't want anyone to get the idea she was threatening them, at least not unless her master decided a suicide attack was a good idea.

Sure felt the spring begin to slip, ever do slightly.

"Well then," Ullan began.

A seconds hesitation. She felt him assess the odds, felt the killing fire abate, as though he were putting it back into the box. "It seems like we both have a great deal of work to do, then."

"Would you like a new vessel, Darth Ullan? Yours looked barely spaceworthy."

"Thank you, no, Darth Malak."

As Ullan turned to leave, Malak spoke one more word. "Duros."

She felt a strange melange of emotion from that. Sadness, pride, a sense of loss. Ullan glanced back and nodded. "Duros."

Then he was moving through the ship, the two acolytes who had been sent to lead him scurrying to keep up.

She waited until the were back in the hallway to slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. She wanted to grin at the fact he'd called the other man 'Darth Malak' instead of 'Lord Malak'.

Back at the Maiden he surveyed the flight deck, then turned to her. "Worm, go see if the slave is still alive and then bring her back here."

"Yes Master," she said, walking calmly up the ramp. She forced down the piece of her that wanted to run up it, seeking Bronus' presence. She could see this might be something he'd have to break her of, and she knew deep down that she would mourn that piece when it was forcibly cut out.

Bronus was sitting at the table in the mess, long white hair stained with crimson. She seemed to have stopped bleeding, but head wounds were always messy. "Are you alright?" she couldn't help it, and hoped Ullan wasn't listening.

"I'm fine." Bronus answered, eyes wide. Her pupils were the same size as Iocina tilted her head up to look, no signs of a concussion at least.

"Master wants you to come to him." she said, holding out a hand to help her up. She could sense the slave's wariness of her, the fear that her kindness was only a ruse to gain something from her. She fell silently into step behind Iocina, trying to control the shaking in her hands.

Iocina walked down the ramp, stepping to the side to resume her position to the left and behind her master.

Ullan pivoted to the acolytes. "I have decided to take Darth Malak up on his offer. We will be departing in that vessel." He pointed at a sleek courier vessel, not quite as roomy as the Maiden, but definitely in better repair, faster and more heavily armed.

"I would appreciate it if this one repaired and kept in good working order in case I need it later."

The acolytes radiated surprise, she had the feeling that were their faces not covered they would be openly gaping. He glanced significantly at the spot where he'd decapitated their comrade. Then he set off marching, forcing them to scatter to either side lest he run them over.

She radiated amusement into the bond, not purposely but it came through all the same. The new vessel seemed much more appropriate, at the least much more intimidating than the bedraggled freighter. However, she knew the freighter was less conspicuous. They could go anywhere without being seen as a threat, especially from the force-blind. Any Jedi or Sith would sense them aboard.

He marched up the stairway to the new ship. "See to the slave's wounds," he ordered. "Make sure she understands not to impede my path again."He made his way to the cockpit.

The inside of the ship was as sleek and functional as the outside, and while smaller had a few more amenities. Between the single quarters and the galley was a long panel with the healer's symbol laser etched into it. She popped the catches on either side and it dropped down to reveal a well stocked medical kit, and miniature version of a full medic's emergency gear. The panel itself was reinforced for a wounded person to recline on, so long as they weren't particularly wide.

Iocina pulled out disinfectant wipes, "Kneel down." she ordered quietly, and Bronus complied readily. Even if she'd intended to be gentle it would have been impossible, the wound was shallow but looked dirty. The walls of the ships corridor hadn't been scrubbed and had been just as grimy as everything else. Not for the first time she wondered how in the stars anyone could let their living space get that way. She scrubbed the wound out deftly and examined it, fresh blood had risen to the surface but was gelling quickly. She blotted it away and reached for an adhesive sealant that closed the wound from the air and dirt.

"Stay out of his way next time," she advised.

"Yes mistress Worm." Bronus whispered.

For a moment she wondered why Bronus still knelt on the floor and felt slightly embarassed when she realized the woman was waiting for leave to rise. "Get up and strap in somewhere, I doubt we'll get any trouble since the Republic ships are falling back but no reason to take chances."

She closed the panel and locked it in place before making her own way to the cockpit. She sighed happily at the state of the art instruments, she'd always enjoyed her times running sims even though piloting wasn't something Jedi were called on to do very often. She settled into the second seat and looked to Ullan for instruction.

He sat with his feet on the console, watching the monitor.

"Watch this," he said. "You've never seen it before, but it's about to become a lot more common."

On the display, she could see the destroyers taking up equidistant points around the globe.

Ullan seethed with quiet frustration over their bond. "Malak is making a point," he growled.

She pressed her lips together, "That's... stupid." she said. "The Force is made up of life, even insignificant things down to the level insects and amoeba generate energy. By destroying so much of it at once he's diminishing the power he can draw on."

"Malak is not the thoughtful type. It's also a dreadful waste of assets I've been cultivating for years. And incidentally a few million people are about to die."

He shrugged. "Someday when the proper opportunity arises I'm going to stick a lightsaber through that stupid metal jaw if his."

The destroyers began to fire, raining crimson death down on the innocent world.

"Go find me something to eat," he said languidly, cold eyes fixed on the screen.

She stood and swayed, grabbing the back of the chair in a white knuckled grip. She could feel the deaths and their terror, and it made her want to collapse and start screaming. She had to force it down, control it so that she was the master of her fear so it couldn't master her. She let out a ragged breath and stood straighter, walking steadily now back towards the galley.

The thought of food made her slightly ill, but she began sorting through what was available. She considered ordering Bronus to do this, but he'd ordered her to do it herself. At least she was fairly certain that was what he wanted. There was a real food processor, with internal packs of rations it could turn into mostly accurate copies of various dishes.

She programmed it to cook something that sounded Alderaanian, and the ingredients sounded more than palatable. She ripped open a bland ration pack similar to what had been left on the freighter and crammed it into her mouth. It was fresher than the old ones she'd had before, but didn't taste much different. She opened the tap on the water recycling sink and lowered her head to drink from the stream, gulping it down till she was satisfied. She felt like she hadn't had anything to drink for days, and she realized she was almost right.

She made her way back to the cockpit and leaned in the door. "Master, shall I bring it to you here or do you want to have it at the table?"

"Bring it here and tell Bronus to feed herself," he said. "I need to watch this."

Across the link she could sense the working of his mind. He sipped lightly of the terror of the planet's destruction, but he was focused. Counting ships, studying patterns.

She couldn't keep a shiver from creeping up her spine, sensing his taking in of the fear generated by the slaughter, and backed out of the cockpit. She found Bronus sitting on a small seat in the hallway and beckoned her to follow.

"Eat something," she wave vaguely in the direction of the synthesizer and took Ullan's meal from it. It smelled good, and looked much more attractive than the meal the freighters synth had managed. Some sort of stewed meat, sliced vegetables, and something that looked bread-ish. She'd never seen bread that looked, well, like bread from a synthesizer, although she admitted it tasted no different.

She held it in both hands as she offered it, she didn't think thrusting it at him with one hand would go over well. Resting her hands on the back of the chair she tentatively touched the bond between them. Was he enjoying this in some way, or was taking in the fear more of a 'waste not' sort of thing? She wasn't sure which was... worse wasn't the right word but her vocabulary didn't have an understanding for it. She reached out delicately towards the energy wicking away from the planet, not quite drawing it into herself as he was doing, but touching it curiously.

As she touched the bond, she definitely gained the impression that his general disinterest in the mass slaughter made his usage of it an impersonal affair.

"I would hit them there," he said, pointing at the screen suddenly. "And there and the. Karath was a brilliant ship's commander, but he's too rigid and controlling as an admiral. That wasn't a concern so long as Revan" the word sent a spike of pain through the link, quickly folded away for future use "was in command. But it will be a problem for Malak now."

He sat back and rubbed his head. The fire was falling off, the world obscured in dusty clouds that were once animals, plants, and sentient beings, now superheated steam.

"Agent of chaos. Revan came up with that back during the war. The Mandalorian War," he corrected. "Don't give me a fleet, but give me a dozen or so starfighters and pilots you're not too terribly attached to, and turn me loose."

She wanted to send a thread of comfort to him but caught herself before she did. He wouldn't accept it, and she knew it was a weak desire she should put aside. He mourned Revan. He'd cared for someone.

"What do you usually do?" she asked, gingerly sitting on the edge of the second seat. The screaming emptiness left from the bombardment was a wound the like of which she'd never imagined, leaving disturbing echoes in the flow of power that was the living Force. "To create chaos I mean? I know you were going to use your contacts down there to let the Jedi know how they'd failed in creating the Devourer and dooming Vilargo, that would have created quite a bit of it in the council."

"I can sense discrete points," he said. "Vulnerabilities. The areas where the smallest force will generate the maximum results. In armor, in formations, in structures, in people. I simply arrange to be in position to apply that pressure. Hence why Malak let me dock, and most likely why he let us walk away. He's seen what I can do..."

He looked back at the display as the destroyers began jumping to lightspeed, sudden blurs of motion as the fleet departed and left a wake of despondent civilian vessels, many of them trying to call down to the world, desperately seeking some signs of life.

"But he's right. So long as we have a chance of toppling the Republic, I won't openly go against him. Not yet."

A thought wormed its way into her mind, was that how he'd known she'd come to find Rens? She'd not yet asked how he'd even met her old master, and supposed she would eventually if she got the chance.

She chewed for a moment on the inside of her cheek. "Do you think Malak will have a chance to do that? Isn't... wasn't Revan a tactical genius?"

"There are other factors in play," he said cryptically. "The Republic will be lucky to still be standing in another two years time."

He shook himself suddenly, and she felt an icy wave of anger wash over him, cleansing him of his reverie. He turned toward her and looked her over carefully. "So. Have you eaten?"

"Yes." she said it bluntly, not even attempting to lie. Technically she had taken it from the galley and not from an individual, but the ship and thus everything on it belonged to him. He'd told her to take food from someone else, and while she didn't think he meant himself she meant to accept any punishment he meted out.

She wouldn't try to hide anything she'd done wrong, because if she did she'd get twice his wrath brought down on her.

"Were my orders suspended? Did I change my mind and then forget about it?" he asked. "And why are you still sitting in a chair?"

She stood, then knelt slowly. A fine tremor started in her hands and she could feel the curls brushing her cheeks begin to vibrate with it. "No master."

"Let's see how a slave takes her punishment. Bronus! Attend me!"

Bronus came moments later and knelt before him, slightly behind and to the side of Iocina.

"Yes master?"

"What mistake have you made today?"

Bronus lowered herself to the floor, forehead pressing against the metal. "This unworthy slave impeded her master's path and apologizes."

"And what did you receive?"

"This unworthy slave received rightful punishment and instruction from her master and thanks him."

He rested his foot on the back of her head and looked at Iocina. "Will the slave err like this again?"

"The unworthy slave will strive to never displease her master."

He rapped her forehead against the deck, sending nauseous tremors in her body. "The slave's obeisance is accepted," he said. "Now get out of here and wait for me."

She caught herself from looking up at him and wisely decided to keep her eyes on the floor.

"I apologize for my failure," she said, her entire body was vibrating with tension. "I knew what I was doing and disobeyed you."

He tapped on the console. "Now put yourself in the proper position and repeat that statement, then tell me why you chose to disobey."

She licked dry lips and slid back to give herself enough room to bow, lowering her face to the floor. She didn't try to barely touch the deck this time, pressing her face fully down to the cold metal.

"I apologize for my failure Master, I knew what I was doing and disobeyed you. I was hungry, and took food that I didn't deserve to fill my worthless stomach."

"And what does the Worm require for her failure?" he asked.

"I will accept whatever punishment my Master decides to mete out." She said swallowing against the lump in her throat, she knew he enjoyed her fear and whatever he dreamed up wouldn't go well for her. Everything else she'd done to bring his anger down on her had been caused by her weakness and the teachings of the Jedi she had to purge from her mind. She couldn't even begin to think of what he'd do to punish direct defiance.

He grabbed her hair and pulled her up, looking directly at the comm input. "Hello Vrook. You may remember this scrap of a padawan. You might as well have sent her to me as a gift. One of yours, now mine. My property..."

His metallic hand probed her body under her flimsy costume.

She whimpered, squirming as the cold metal slithered over her skin. Oh, yes she was afraid. Her Master was going to do terrible things to her as punishment, but he was going to make the Jedi watch and something low clenched inside her at the thought.

"Master!" she cried out, biting off another helpless sound.

He shook her vigorously. "He is not your master anymore, slave worm!"

Electricity coursed through her body from his metallic hand.

"I am your master!"

She could sense him rising to her theatrics in the link. She would still suffer, but this suffering would serve multiple purposes.

A scream ripped from her throat, back arching as her nerves were set on fire. She'd had a small taste of this before but it was nothing compared to the full effect. She sobbed, and began to babble apologies.

"I'm so sorry My Lord, please forgive me." she gasped for breath, body twitching as she tried to resume the groveling position. Her arms collapsed under her, leaving her prone with her face staring into the recording device. She played to it, fear filling her eyes, and made small helpless sounds.

"I'm remaking her, Vrook, into the slave she should have always been. Docile, compliant, obedient, fearful." He raked his hand along her back and laughed menacingly.

She lay meekly still, tears spilling from her eyes and down her face to pool on the cold deck. Her chest heaved with her gasping breaths.

"Please, no." she shook her head slightly, rolling her eyes up to look at Ullan.

He lowered his hand in front of her face, coruscating energy from the fingertips. "Lick it, you worm."

Her breathing became unsteady as she continued to shake her head, her eyes slipped closed with her black lashes trembling on her cheeks. She slowly opened her mouth and ran her tongue across the metal, a pained yelp jerking from her as the electric charge lashed through her mouth and down her throat leaving a painful tingling behind it.

"No passion, no fear, no death," he taunted. "Yuld Rens would argue against that, Vrook. So many failures to your name, I would think you'd become just a little less certain about things."

He suddenly smashed Iocina's head into the floor. "But you will keep obstinately following the same path, until we crush you all, won't you! Like I'm crushing your little neophyte!"

He kicked her in the ribs, launching her onto her back.

She let out an agonized shout as her head hit the deck with punishing force, gave a short scream as his heavy boot impacted on her ribs. She couldn't tell if something was broken, but she was sure she wouldn't come out of this without something at least cracking. She could feel blood well from a split in her brow, spreading across her face as she stared up at Ullan.

She heaved a few more breaths, only half acting and let out a soft sob. She turned slightly, still keeping her face mostly visible to the camera and tried to curl into a fetal position.

He kicked her at the base of her spine. "I'm coming for you, Vrook. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day, I will have your life." He flicked the recorder off with the force, then stepped in beside her, resting his foot on her cheek. "Well, worm?"

For a few moments she truly couldn't move or breath as pain radiated from her spine. She sucked in a breath and coughed, slowly turning her body until she could kneel and press her face to the floor.

"I deserve to be punished Master, I'm too stupid to follow simple orders and I must be corrected."

She longed to repeat the lesson he'd taught her to heal herself, but knew better than to do it without his permission. Sweat rolled down her sides and burned in the cut over her eye. Blood was slowly oozing out of it to make a small puddle beneath her head where she held it against the floor.

He jostled her head with his boot. "Disappointing. Bring me the lightsaber I gave you."

She climbed to her feet and brushed passed him, back bowed in pain and head down in submission. When she returned with the weapon she knelt again, offering it with both hands over her head as Bronus had relinquished her bowl.

Someday, hopefully before she died, she would truly learn her place and obeying would be effortless. And some day if she survived it, hopefully she'd be meting the same out to someone else instead.

He snatched it away and held it in front of her face. He squeezed down, crushing the ornate weapon.

"If I can't trust you to follow orders, I cannot trust you to carry weapons or with vital responsibility. You have disappointed me, worm. Do not fail me again, or I won't be gentle."

"Thank you Master." she bowed again, forcing herself to not to flinch away from him and shoved down her fear.

"Now explain why you felt it appropriate to defy me," he said. "What was your thought in this?"

She considered it, "I didn't think." she admitted, "I was stupid Master, and I'm more ashamed at not thinking than at being punished for it. Forgetting your command is, to me, a worse sin than disobeying you. For that I willingly submit to your correction."

"You're not in the temple now," he said. "Not thinking is death. You're lucky if you merely get a beating. Remember this, if you live long enough to command another: you cannot tolerate negligence or thoughtlessness. Now stay in place and meditate on your failure until I release you."

"Yes Master."

She didn't deserving to either ignore her pain or drop it into that place where it became pleasure. She first meditated upon that, using each blow to bring forth a memory in which she'd acted first and thought second.

Not long before she'd run away an older Padawan had been maligning Yuld Rens, using him as a negative example during a tutoring session with a group of initiates. She'd slapped him. That too had gotten her punished and forced to meditate. Vrook had forced her to kneel beside him, radiating his disapproval as she failed again and again to meditate on tranquility and acceptance.

For each blow she'd endured she brought up another memory, thinking about the consequences of her actions. She realized how pathetic her instruction on this had been in the temple. Yes she'd been punished but they had been very light, never really driving home how dangerous being impulsive was. Intellectually she'd known that she could be harmed or killed, or gotten other people in the same situation if she didn't think first, but it had never been articulated with enough force. The greatest teacher, she knew now, was fear and pain.

Before, when she'd been in the temple she'd have tried to release her emotions related to her memories to the Force. Now she fed on the resentment it had made her feel and added it to the little dark place that was fostering in her heart.

She put it aside to contemplate later. Now she was able to consider her failure. She needed to know why she had disobeyed. Had she forgotten? Yes, but that wasn't an excuse. There was no excuse for failure, even small ones. Any misstep could get her killed, not just here but in battle or when dealing with anyone who had power over her. Right now only Bronus didn't have power over her but she wouldn't put it past Ullan to change that for a time as a lesson in humility. Or a lesson in hate.

He set up the jump to lightspeed, then stood up and walked about the cabin, his boots continually coming down near her head. Along the link, she could feel him recalculating, his currents not cloaked away from her.

Despite his anger, he was still teaching. She sensed the images and presences of figures known to her, members past and present of the Order, while others were shadowy images. He was recalculating his understanding of the galaxy, and his place in it in the post-Revan Sith structure. Ideas occurred to him and were discarded quickly, showing little attachment as soon as flaws were discerned.

While she couldn't sense the precise shape of his schemes, she could feel him plotting a new path.

Finally, with satisfaction, he marched out of the room.

She hissed out a breath of tension, opening her mind again and listening carefully as he moved away from the cockpit. Aware of her body suddenly she realized the blood had congealed between her face and the floor, when she rose it would probably start bleeding again. Facial wounds bled as much as scalp injuries did. If she hadn't had years of practice relaxing her body in meditation she'd be in a much worse state, but although her muscles hadn't locked up from remaining one one position for so long she could feel every bruise. She evaluated, and discovered a deep breath didn't send agony through her chest so no broken ribs. The bones might have been bruised, but there weren't even cracks. Ironically the full submission had stretched the muscles in her back and eased her spine. It would hurt when she stood, but not as badly as if she'd gotten up immediately and tried to exert herself.

Not for the first time she wondered what Vrook had done to earn Ullan's hatred. Had he been one of Vrook's Padawans? If so it could be be why he'd taken Rens fall so badly, being one of his oldest and closest friends. A slow smile crept over her face as she thought about the Jedi's reaction to watching the communcation. Would he think there was some way of rescuing her? There was no doubt he'd bring it before the rest of the council. Would they send someone? If they did, could she kill them? She was certain that unless Vrook came himself, unlikely, she would be ordered to take the final blow. To prove herself. It was something to think about.

The beating had been indeed expertly rendered for maximum pain while still retaining her function. It seemed that while Ullan played at being out of control, he very rarely actually indulged in the state.

She was left there for hours, while the ship carried on life around her. She could sense him going about various tasks, familiarizing himself with the vessel, searching for and finding tracking devices and neutralizing them, and then taking a good long session of lightsaber practice.

Bronus, in the meantime, had leveled out as what passed for normalcy for her returned. She set about cleaning the ship and organizing the food stocks. She looked in on Iocina twice, her feelings mixed between pity and fear.

Finally he returned. "Get up and go get yourself cleaned up. We need to adjust to the changing dynamics. We're going to Nar Shaddaa."

Trying not show her relief she got to her feet and finally took the most satisfying stretch of her life. The sonic shower as well, while not as satisfying as water, felt glorious. She turned the heating element just barely below the limit and tried not to bask longer than it took to get clean.

She did not want to put the black dancing costume on. She scowled at it and and continued scowling as she put it on. There was probably some kind of clothing stowed here somewhere but she couldn't and wouldn't get access to it anytime soon.

As she passed the slave on her way to Ullan their eyes met briefly. She'd sensed Bronus looking at her, once when she was meditation and again when she'd merely been waiting to permission to rise. Iocina wasn't sure what her expression meant so she turned her head away and kept moving.

He was enjoying a steaming drink as she returned, while Bronus knelt and rubbed his feet.

"With Malak in charge," he mused "the Sith are going to need all the help they can get. He's going to try to win everywhere at once with brute force. We need to disrupt the Republic's responses. The first order of business is still siphoning as many Jedi as we can sacrifice back on Vilargo. After that, we need to accelerate disruption of Republic responses. Confusion, misdirection, and as many dead Jedi as we can arrange."

Something twisted in her gut, she tried to block it from the bond but knew she hadn't managed to hide all of it. She wondered, abruptly, if a Force bond was something that happened spontaneously through the will of the Force or if it could be put in place by someone. She knew it didn't matter, but still she wondered. She shook herself free from that random thought and knelt down on her knees. She thought it politic not to even think of standing in his presence without permission.

"What do you desire for me to do, Master?"

"We're back to the slave routine. And for that, you're going to live as a slave from now until we arrive and accomplish our goals."  
He looked back at her. "What are the advantages of a slave?"

"No one notices them," she answered, speaking slowly as she thought about it, "They can go anywhere, do anything. People will speak in front of them as if they are furniture. No matter how intelligent a slave has proven themselves to be they are assumed to be stupid. They don't expect slaves to have any ulterior motives, at least after they've been broken."

"Precisely. I am giving you a position of power, if you utilize it intelligently. Your punishment has been served, this is instruction."

"Thank you Master," she said, her muscles relaxing ever so slightly.

"Your feeding restrictions will lift when we touch down, because we won't have time for it. But for the moment they stand, you can't give Bronus orders anymore. I suppose you'll have to be clever or go hungry."

Wincing internally she perversely wish she'd eaten more than on of the ration bars. It wouldn't have been much worse of a punishment, probably. RIght.

"Also, I have a habit of collecting souvenirs where I visit, particularly at places like Nar Shaddaa. If you should happen to spot a worthy acquisition, such as a singer or a dancer or some other artistic sort, we'll collect her on the way out."

Was this a test? She knew she couldn't hide the way she felt about slavery, not when he could peruse her emotions anytime he chose. Her treatment of Bronus had proven that, half dominance and half pity. She couldn't keep a slight hitch in her breath as she said, "Of course, Master."

He gave her a knowing smirk. "The weak are property. Get used to it, or stay weak. Now go attend Bronus and further your lessons."

"Master, how must I attend Bronus? I'm not meaning to be impertinent, only wish to avoid ignorance and thus disappoint you by my failure."

"She is going to further instruct you on the behaviors of a slave. Listen to her lessons and learn from them. She's survived me longer than you have, after all."

He paused, as if considering further. "Ah, you perhaps ask if you're to serve her. Not right now, but it is an interesting thought."

She flushed, heat suffusing her cheeks as she stood slowly and backed out of the room. "Yes Master, I'll see to it at once."

Bronus sat in one of the cabins, hard at work manufacturing clothing. She had been converting a stock of Sith military uniforms into decorative costumes for the two of them.  
She gestured at the pile of finished clothing. "You need to start trying those on."

She stripped off the clinging costume and looked over what Bronus had laid out. All were variations on the same theme, tight and black with a more loose skirt. She appreciated the range of movement they would allow, but from hips to shoulders they were even tighter than the make-shift costume of before. She chose one that had merely panels of fabric draping down the front and back below the hips, slits on both sides all the way up her thighs. She struggled into the thing and found a nasty surprise. The bottom of the bodice was lined with sharp needles stitched into it, too regularly to have been an accident. Moving and twisting caused small pinpricks of pain, any strenuous movement would make it worse.

Testing her theory she picked each one up and examined it. The slave studiously ignored her, head bowed as she finished the last dress. Iocina was rather impressed, not only had she quickly cut down three cumbersome sets of robes into six costumes, and it seemed each one had it's own unique form of light torment worked into it.

She opened her mouth to give an order and remembered that this privilege had been taken away. She rephrased her words into a request, feeling uncomfortable. The thought had come quickly to her mind that it was shameful to have to ask a mere slave to do something and more galling to have one teach her. It upset her in a way and she know that this was a weakness she couldn't afford and longer.

"Bronus, will you show me how you kneel so well?" she asked. The slave was well practiced in this art, entirely graceful and at her when she went to her knees. It was almost an art form and she'd need to copy it if she were to look well trained.

"I, ah," she said uncertainly. "I just do it, I suppose, mistress Worm."

She stood up, then lowered herself down. Most likely, it had to do with the pure natural decisiveness of the motion, a practiced ease born of experience and well-trained muscle memory. She knelt before Iocina, looking up at her. "I was raised a slave, mistress Worm, I have never trained another.

A pang went through her and she tried to seal it off from the bond. "You were raised a slave?" she asked, then wanted to bang her head on the wall. Stupid question, she shouldn't be asking. She should be closing herself off to caring about that. She was weak, and she hated it. She sighed and tried to copy the graceful move. It seemed to involve slowly lowering herself first to one knee and easing down onto the other, but it was all one smooth motion. Somehow it also gave the impression that Bronus wore long full skirts that would spread around her as she knelt.

"Yes mistress Worm. I was property of the House T'loch, on Shevandris, before the Mandalorian occupation. Then I was the property of Jestus Wren of the Wren Clan. When Darth Ullan defeated him in combat, I became his property."

She rose and knelt again, demonstrating the move once more, then flowed into a position of obedience, head against the floor, then rose with palms turned upward in a gesture of exaltation.

"Darth Ullan does not call for these often. Is he going to require them for the mission?"

"I don't know." she answered, but I should learn them in any case. "He told me I was to, ah, live as a slave on the ship until we get there so that I can put on a good show."

She rose to her feet and copied the movement two more times. She was surprised to find that the muscles in her calves began to strain slightly. Apparently kneeling prettily used new muscles.

The next position and the hand movement were a bit more difficult to copy and she knew it looked stilted.

Bronus looked puzzled. "But, you're one of them," she said. "Forgive me, but how could anything a mere slave can do be hard for you?"

"I'm not... I mean," she sighed, "I was just a Jedi apprentice a week ago, a Padawan. We didn't practice many bows, the full submission that I give our Master is the only one I know that doesn't just involve bowing from the waist and I learned that one from a holonovel."

"Master Ullan had a padawan when he defeated Master Wren," she said. "He was very powerful, and I have see you... some things of what you can do."  
She looked away. "Forgive this slave her impertinence, please."

"I'm pretty useless," she muttered, flushing with frustration. She tried again, feeling like she'd gotten it right. "Did I do it alright?"

She watched it, then shuffled closer, reaching out with hesitation. "Arms flow, like this... remember, you belong on the floor because you are nothing before the master's glorious light. You are lucky that the master finds a use for such a worthless creature, and should revere him with every part and in every way." The latter portion was recited by rote, obviously the words of a long ago trainer.

She smiled slightly, "Do you really believe that?"  
She tried the movement again, frustrated at how smooth and perfect Bronus made it look. She felt more humiliated at not knowing what she was doing than the fact that she was pretending to be a slave. But really, was she pretending? Ullan had said he owned her, body and soul, so she supposed it was true in a way. Slave worm was what he'd called her in the recording for Vrook. She felt conflicted, hating and loving it at the same time.

"You've seen him. What is a slave compared to him? He battles monsters and demons with a sword of light and can kill with a gesture. He is... better than the other masters, of course." She made one more adjustment, then nodded. "I think you should practice it just like this, Mistress Worm. That is right, like that, but you need to be used to it."

She began to repeat the movements, over and over as though memorizing a kata. If she thought of it that way she could train her body in it the same way she moved through the stations of a lightsaber form she wanted to learn. She slipped into a nearly meditative state, her mind receptive to Bronus' words. Her Master was powerful, more than any Jedi she'd met, but that was to be expected. He didn't hold back and he didn't back down. She liked that about it, respected it and feared it - which she was coming to learn were inextricably linked.

"What happened to his old apprentice?" she wasn't sure she wanted to know, but had to ask anyway.

Bronus looked away. "I don't believe he would like me to speak of it," she said. She returned to the clothing unit and collected another piece of fabric. She studied it intently, then collected a spool of thin wire and began weaving it into the fabric.

She let the subject drop, and set her mind to fully memorized the movements she'd demonstrated until her muscles began to understand the pattern. By the time she felt she'd learned it she realized she was sweating slightly. She dropped into the obedient position Bronus had showed her. Raising her arms as if in supplication she asked,"Better?"

She nodded as she finished attaching a miniature powercell to the garment she was working on.

"That is the Dawn Ritual. If any of the Houses of Shevandris remained, you would be able to offer your morning obedience now."

She pressed the fabric to her arm and triggered the cell. A small tic in her fingers and an almost imperceptible grimace indicated that it was functional. She put it aside with a nod.

"Now, you must learn to bring food and drink."

"Alright," She stood, automatically offering a hand to her.

Bronus blinked up at her, staring at Iocina's arm as though her hand was some strange, foreign entity that had no place on a human body.  
"Mistress Worm?" she asked hesitantly. Before Iocina could answer, understanding dawned in her eyes. She snatched up the fabric and lifted it reverently over her head. "Like this, Mistress Worm."

She dropped her hand to her side and turned her back on Bronus. "I... I'll be right back." She moved out into the hallways and pressed her face against the wall. Its cool surface gelled the sweat that had broken out on her forehead.

I like her, damn it.

She cast around for something to ground herself, to remember who she was becoming. Weak. She was so weak and she grasped her hatred for that weakness. The anger at herself, at her own pity, at the foolish Padawan who was hiding inside of her. She felt herself faltering, losing her grip on her anger. Taking a deep breath she slid one hand own her body, seeking the row of needles sewn around her waist and pressed, twisted, impaling herself on the sharp ends. She grunted, pressing harder until a sort of euphoria began to overtake her.

Ullan sauntered down the corridor, a tool kit in hand. He slipped up behind her, pressing her against the wall. "What's the matter, little worm?"

She turned her face to the wall, hiding behind a sheet of curls. "I'm just." she let out a breath, "I'm trying to turn my fear into something useful," she said, "Again." she sounded exasperated with herself and winced. "Master."

She could feel drops of blood beginning to wet the fabric under her hand, 'Thank the stars its all black,' she thought.

"Feel the fear and then determine how it can be used to improve your circumstance. This is an example where fear will inspire you to obedience, which makes me much less likely to kill you."

He pressed his hand over hers and twisted slightly, the Force coursing through their hands to make the needles dance and vibrate. After a moment, it was impossible to tell if he was doing it alone, if she had joined in, or even if it were now just her.

"What is the fear you need to use?" he whispered into her ear, his metallic hand cupping her breast.

"I fear you." she said, sighing shakily. "And I fear what I'm becoming, and yet I want it. I want to become strong like you, to become something others will fear," all the feelings she'd been hiding from herself came to the forefront, "I don't know if I've always wanted power, if everyone who touches the Force harbors this deep need for control. I know I can't master others until I've mastered myself but I don't know how to tear out my pity, my weakness towards others who shouldn't deserve any thoughts of mine."

She looked up at him, leaned into pain curling through her from her belly, "I wish I could just cut out my weakness and cauterize the wound so it can't grow back."

"Bronus," he said. "She's good at inducing pity."

He shrugged and released her. "You know what you must do. If I have to spell these things out for you, you'll be a worthless apprentice and I might as well just leave you as a slave. Meditate on what is more important to you: power or your tender sympathies. And think on this: if you had to sacrifice Bronus to kill Vrook, would you do it? I would, and my only regret would be in the bother of getting her replacement up to speed. "

"I know," she said, lifting her head from the wall and easing her hand away from her stomach. She thought about tugging the fabric and dislodging the needles buried in her flesh but stopped herself. Pain to power she thought, and left them. It would be hell ripping them out again, particularly if they began to heal before she could take them out. Good.

"Thank you for instructing me Master," she stopped herself from brushing by him, and thought about what a slave would do. She lowered her head submissively and waited to be dismissed, shifting her weight in such a way as to mimic Bronus' stance when awaiting leave to go.

"Get back to work," he said as he hefted the toolkit and continued on his way.

"Yes Master," she said, bowing as he walked away. She waited till he turned the corner before walking back into the room.

"How do slaves serve food and drink." she felt ice prickle in her voice, and knew that Bronus had sensed the change in her. She looked at the slave and tried to think of her as nothing more than Ullan's property. Yes, she was pretty and obedient, she seemed to enjoy pain as much as Iocina was learning to. At this she touched the needles in the flesh of her waist with the Force and twisted, a sweet sigh slipping from her mouth.

How many pain loving obedient slaves were there? Probably enough of them that finding another would only be an inconvenience and not a hardship. I could serve until one was found, she thought, another twist and she drew the pain into the pain/pleasure reservoir she was slowly filling. Once the slave teaches me her art, Master Ullan could use me until he replaced her, she felt a bit of that echo down the connection and wasn't certain it had been an accident.

Bronus lowered her head and began to teach her what she knew, and Iocina was an apt pupil.

"With worship, Mistress Worm, as though making an offering to a god. In the proper form, it goes like so."

She took up a fabric cleanser, roughly cup-sized, and cradled it in her hands. Her shoulders rolled forward as her head bowed, eyes averted, and she approached Iocina in a fashion of meek humility. When she reached her, she swept down gracefully and in perfect balance, her arms rising in time with her descent so perfectly that all motion stopped at once, the cleanser held at the perfect height for Iocina to comfortably grasp it. She had crossed her legs behind her at the ankles, making the posture challengingly unstable, but did not waver.

"The slave at meal is not for display, but service," she intoned 'and must strive to invisibility unless the master wishes otherwise."

Iocina pressed her lips together, suddenly weary and annoyed at all of this and flicked a hand towards the slave in a barely perceptible movement. A tiny tether of thought, skimming along the upper most information as Bronus thought of it. Ullan had suggested, days ago when Iocina had desired instruction on pleasing a man, that she could take the information from Bronus. At the time even considering this had caused a pang of alarm, but now she knew better.

She's nothing, Iocina thought, and I shouldn't sit at a slave's feet and take lessons from it.

Bronus froze in place, the cleanser trembling in her hands. Iocina felt the other woman recoil as she sensed the violation, one that even Ullan had never forced upon her.

Iocina smiled, that slow sweet quirk of lips that had touched her mouth the first time she'd had this feeling. She closed her eyes and found herself tasting Bronus' fear and it was as heady as wine. She reached out a hand and began petting the slave's hair.

"Just, meditate," she suggested softly, "Think about what it means to be a slave and go through the motions in your mind. What you would do to serve our Master and his guests."

She could feel a deep shudder run through the woman, and she rested a steadying hand on her shoulder. Not to comfort, but to hold her in place.

She felt Bronus shifting, adapting, trying to bury her innermost feelings safely away and project what Iocina needed of her. There was a flicker of anger, a deeply-buried shard of independence hidden away in what had been previously her one safe sanctum, and Iocina could taste the hatred beginning to well even as Bronus struggled to visualize.

They were in some sort of banquet hall, a cold and drafty place, surrounded by men and women with furs. Ullan stepped over a corpse with distinctive lightsaber burns and seated himself at the head of the table.

"I take it there are no further challengers, then?" he asked lightly. "Then let's continue our dinner. Slave, bring me my food."

She rose from her kneeling position, relieved as ever that he'd survived the latest struggle. Not that a group of club-wielding barbarians were a real threat, but still...

Adapting to a new master was a complicated, messy, painful process. The greatest relief of Ullan was that he was powerful enough to potentially own her until she was no longer desirable, and then perhaps she could finally know peace.

She flowed through her movements, knowing that only a few eyes were upon her. Earlier, when he'd entered, she had been visible then. During the pleasantries, all things about a warrior were assessed, including his bearing, demeanor, weapons, and decorations. But now? Now he was the center of attention, and only the most foolishly lusty had any idea she even existed.

Only those few, and of course her master. Those eyes never missed anything, never failed to note a failing.

He was at once the greatest of masters, and the cruelest, and the most dangerous. If she failed here, he might not make a moment of it, for he had a calculated impression to make on these savages. But in time, she would suffer for it.

Fortunately, his standards were more lax than those of House T'loch, where a slight mistake of posture could result in a beating, or any other number of whims could see a slave raped and made sport of in the arena.

She lowered herself before him, knowing that even as he never looked at her, he would know that his plate would be precisely where he wanted it, his drink at his hand, that all concerns of the smallest details were taken care of. That was the pride of a slave, she'd been told over and over as a child. To ease the burdens of the great and mighty.

Before, the 'great and mighty' had been pathetic, weak, and vulnerable. First Jastus had demonstrated that, and then Ullan had made sport of Jastus, leaving him a limbless torso staked on the city wall.

Ullan was great. Ullan was mighty. Ullan was a worthy master.

 

She took her hand away from Bronus' shoulder, but continued to stroke her hair. If the slave could feel the trembling in her hand she didn't dare remark on it. "Thank you, that was well done." Iocina murmured, stepping away and keeping that cruelly gentle smile on her face.  
"I need to meditate on this." She left the terrified slave kneeling on the floor and stepped back into the passageway. She hadn't explored the ship yet, wasn't certain where she could meditate undisturbed and remain out of her master's way. Very cautiously she sent a questioning pulse of thought down the connection to Ullan, wordlessly asking for instruction.

He stuck his head out of a maintenance hatchway. "Oh go outside and meditate, you useless worm."

She wasn't certain if he was joking or not. Did Sith joke? Nah, probably not. She could only blame herself for this by asking a stupid question.  
There were two pressure suits in a cabinet next to the airlock, inevitably in much better condition than the antique she'd been stuck into before. She'd been lucky the thing had been space-worthy at all. Both suits had full tanks, and this time she could see through the face mask which was another vast improvement.

Twenty minutes later she was leaning into the deep depression made by the door of the airlock. She was suddenly glad she'd done this, horrific consequences if she made misstep aside. It was one thing to see the blue undulating tunnel hyperspace from the cockpit and another to experience it from outside.

Instead of closing her eyes to meditate she focused on the shifting patterns of light as thought it were a focus crystal. She'd used them when she was a youngling just learning to meditate, and still found them soothing. This was damned hypnotic.

She did the curious exercise of dropping in, and out, opening herself completely to the Force. It was the first time she'd fully communed with it in weeks and she'd been afraid to try. She'd been sure it would be different, maybe unrecognizable compared to what she was used to, but it really wasn't. It was only her understanding of it that had changed. She basked in the sheer power of it, the heat of a thousand suns and trillions of lives. She'd always felt small and insignificant as the worm she'd been named, merely a pawn for the whims of the Force and the Council and had erroneously linked them as though the Council controlled the flows of power and all the destinies of the Jedi. The thought of this made her seethe with anger, and she seized onto that. It gave a red haze to the blue energy flow before her eyes, soothing her mind and offering itself to her as a gift. She'd taken it, control of her life as much as she was able. Yes, Darth Ullan had claimed her, made her his slave apprentice. She desired to serve him, to learn to take control of her own destiny.

Through victory my chains are broken

She wasn't sure where those words had come from and she felt unease creep into her mind. She'd come out here to meditate on what she'd taken from Bronus' thoughts and had ended up consumed by the exact opposite. She shifted her thoughts, probing lightly at the memories floating freely around in her head. They weren't her memories, weren't a part of her experience. Taking them in as though they were her own would be a mistake, infecting her with more weakness and not even her own but that of a slave. No, she had to watch them, integrate them into the way she already understood her submission to her master.

When she reemerged into the ship it was with enough understanding of a slave's perspective to simulate one, without fooling herself about any equality between herself and something like Bronus.

I belong to my Master, I owe him my fear and my fealty. He owes me nothing, and I receive only what he deems to give me. I earn nothing from my Master, only what it pleases him to impart into my mind. I am my Master's slave, and I will serve him well in any capacity he desires or accept my punishment with humility and terror, for he is mighty.

It was all true, every word of it.

He had finished his work. It was nothing neat and aesthetic, rather cables had been strung through the hallway, parts had been added onto each other in strictly non-regulation fashion.

"These ships have a deflector gap on the dorsal surface," he informed her as he wiped his hands with a rag. "And they damp the thrusters because at seventy five percent power, they start to get a destabilizing harmonic that's tricky for a mediocre pilot to handle. It smooths out nicely at ninety and over ninety-five it's a smooth ride through and through."

He spat on the deck. "Just let the bad pilots die, but even in the Sith fleet they coddle some weaknesses." He threw the rag on the floor and glared at her. "Get me some of the Tarellian brandy, worm."

She bent and picked up the rag, her movements as practiced and graceful as Bronus', "Yes Master," she rose just as smoothly as she'd knelt and went to fetch the liquor.

Yet another amenity that was far more sophisticated here than on the freighter, the small cabinet of wines and spirits was well stocked and loaded with elegant glasses. Bronus' memories had shown her what sort of glass to serve brandy in, and how to serve it. She made up a small tray, glass and bottle just so, and carried it back out to Ullan.

Another refined easing to her knees, tray lifted at the proper angle, head up but eyes cast submissively down. Her head lifted showed she had all her attention on her master's needs, her lowered eyes showed fear and respect.

"Does this satisfy your needs Master?"

"It works here. We'll see how you do when we get to Nar Shaddaa. Maybe you kneel in front of the first Jedi who says something mean to you."  
He took a single sip, then put the drink back into her hand. "That was enough. Come to my quarters and bring the slave."

She bowed her head and returned the bottle and glass, then went to fetch Bronus. She leaned in the door and said, "Our master requests that we report to his room."

She turned, walking away without waiting for a reply. She did slow her steps to allow the slave to catch up so they could enter together.

He sat at the edge of the bed. "I'll have some more of that brandy now," he said.

He extended his leg and Bronus glided forward to begin removing his boots.

She answered with the correct polite assent and backed out of the room. Once in the galley she lay her hands flat on the counter and shoved down her slight flare of anger. She knew he was testing her. She once again repeated the preparation, this time remembering to make her movements graceful as though she was watched.

When she reentered Ullan's quarters she knelt again and offered the tray as before.

When she returned, Bronus was busy helping him out of his trousers. The process was slow, careful, and as everything else, reverential. As she finished, he accepted the drink.

"Bronus will guide you," he said.

She turned her gaze on Bronus. She carefully took note of the nearly worshipful expression and schooled her own features to mimic it.

Bronus handed her the trousers. "When it is slow, everything is done neatly. Fold them and put them aside."

She took them carefully, imagining they were holy robes of state and folded them. She was used to caring for her own clothing. On Coruscant there were docents working in the temple to clean, cook, and do laundry. The Dantooine enclave was largely self sufficient.

"Undress each other," he ordered.

Bronus turned and began to peel away Iocina's clothing, touching her as she did.

Bronus slid deft fingers through the catches down the front of Iocina's gown, gently stroking her breasts as they were revealed. When she began to remove the bodice Iocina gave a soft choking moan. The needles had healed into her skin, blood drying and sealing them in her flesh. Iocina gasped for a moment, pain and pleasure stealing her composure.

"Yessssss," he hissed contentedly. "Make it hurt."

Bronus returned her hand to Iocina's breast, finding her nipple and pinching down, giving a slow, painful twist.

Iocina shuddered, her dropping back slightly. Her skin was flushed, mouth parted in a sigh. Bronus traced her free hand across the needles threaded through fabric and skin, scraping nails along it as though she played some depraved instrument.

Reaching out, he lifted them with the Force, their bodies intertwining as they floated into the air. "Hurt her back, worm."

She worked to catch her breath, reaching out with the Force to slip the hooks free from the slave's bodice. She slid hands beneath it, dragging it open to reveal pale breasts and a smooth stomach. She'd been fantasizing about this, since the day she'd lost her nerve as Bronus lay over the table as her Master took her from behind.

She cupped the other woman's breasts and flicked her thumbs over pink nipples. Her light brown hands looked darker next to the fair pampered skin and she thought they made a fine contrast. Bronus leaned into the touch, sliding both hands to Iocina's hips and leaving the line of pins to stay in place for now.

Iocina dragged her nails down Bronus' sides, not hesitating as she would have before, drawing eight red lines down over her ribs. Drops of blood welled in the scratches, vivid against pale skin.

Bronus moaned, her legs winding up with Iocina. She leaned in, sinking her teeth into Iocina's arm, not hard enough to draw blood, not quite.

Another low liquid moan came from deep in Iocina's throat, and she held her arm still in Bronus' teeth. "Harder," she whispered, running her free hand down the slave's side. She knew Bronus' clothing had to have some wicked trick to it but it took a moment to find it. It was a bit less obvious than her own dress, rounded bits of metal aligned just so. She couldn't reach them all with one hand, but pressed one beneath her thumb and sought the rest with her mind. Her finger pressed in and all the others reacted simultaneously.

Bronus' teeth clamped down instinctively as her entire body went rigid, fingers twitching spasmodically as she screamed into Iocina's arm.

She felt her skin split beneath Bronus' teeth, her own body reacting much the same, her stomach muscles clenched around the sharp intrusion there. She curled her body forward, sliding one knee between Bronus' legs and pressed it upward. She jerked her arm free and began dragging the slave's clothing off, barely aware enough to not damage it. Blood was running down her arm, dripping into the black fabric of their intermingled clothing.

They were drifting through the air now, then slammed down hard onto the bed. Suddenly he was upon them, his hands and teeth and the Force, winding together as to be indistinguishable from each other.

Iocina found herself tangled in Bronus' limbs and her own dress. Bronus' clothing had slid to the floor in a pool of darkness, metal studs gleaming in the faint light. Bronus was making soft sounds of pain and pleasure, a counterpoint to the same sounds coming from Iocina. The slave's hand was trapped under Iocina's hip and she ground her arm into the embedded needles.

At some point he pulled Bronus' head into his lap. She made a feral sound of desire as she took him in, her entire body shivering with apparent desire. He used the Force to pin Iocina's arms behind her back and tugged her forward, his hand playing on her breasts as the needles in her skin began to vibrate.

Pinpoints of fire lanced through her abdomen, over her hips, the small of her back. She screamed, muscles spasming as she tried to grind herself into the bed. Her a taut arms held her back just enough that she couldn't find purchase.  
The tiny part of her that was still Padawan Denara wanted to weep, and she found that she liked that. It was just another locus of pain, mentally instead of physically, and she let herself feel it. This was what she was working toward, trying to remove her old life piece by piece as quickly as possible. She had no time to mourn it, so set herself to enjoy it instead. She sent this down the bond, teeth bared in an almost feral expression.

"Go ahead," he snarled "cry for me, you little worm! Cry!" He twisted her arms painfully, threatening to tear them from their sockets.

She did, and it felt like part of her was dying. Another scream ripped from her throat as she fought to submit instead of fighting back, she thought if she struggled too much her bones would shatter. She sobbed, pain to fear to pleasure, something vital lost as she came. She didn't mourn its passing, only noticed it falling away. She focused her mind on the pain points around her waist and gave them her own twist, spinning them one by one to release them from her grasping flesh but left them in place.

"Master!" she gasped.

He pulled her down, so her face was right in front of hers. His tongue lapped out, tasting the tears from her cheek. "Yes worm?" he asked, his voice husky and breathless.

"Please." she said, voice thick with the last of her tears.

Her throat closed as he clamped a vice of Force around you. "You don't get to demand, worm. You may beg, when I allow you to breathe."

Her eyes rolled back, her pulse pounding against the big vein in her neck. The grip on her airway was relentless, and she struggled uselessly against it. She strained, slowly beginning to go limp as bright spots of light exploded in her head.

He eased the grip ever so slightly, allowing her to sip air. Somewhere in all of this, Bronus had shifted to straddling him. She was bent over at the waist, nipping at Iocina's bottom with her teeth.

"Master," she gasped, voice cracking as she dragged air into her lungs. She felt dizziness wash over her as she began to beg, pathetic entreaties pouring out of her mouth, "Master, please take this unworthy slave's body and do what you will with it." she knew he could decide to interpret this in more than one way, and she didn't even care. She wanted him to throw her down and do the things she'd watched him to do Bronus, but knew it was entirely his prerogative. If he wanted he could bind her to the wall and make her watch, just to make her suffering sweeter. She couldn't even decide if that would be terrible. She desired his body over her, pinning her down to the bed, and reveled in knowing his power over her was complete.

"What are you?" he demanded. "Abase yourself and grovel, worm. Tell me how worthless and insignificant you are."

"This one is your worthless slave who yearns to be a vessel for your will, a pathetic worm who doesn't deserve to be crushed under your heel," she was almost shocked herself, unsure where the words were coming from until Bronus dug nails into the flesh of her thighs. The words were her own, but the phrasing and vernacular had come from the slave's memories.

"She lives to carry out her Master's wishes, to serve him with her last breath," the last word sighed out of her mouth.

He considered her words. "Tell me how you hate the Jedi, worm. Tell me what you want to do to them."

"I want to see them broken and destroyed, scattered with no hope of gathering together again," she said, voice almost steady, "Their self righteous crusade to control the Republic is worse than the Sith desire to conquer it. There's no honesty to it, only manipulation."

Another small movement twisted into sharp pain, "What they do to their followers is worse, cutting them off from the entirety of the Force and oh so graciously gifting them with a watered down power that can be no threat to anyone - the Jedi Council in particular. I want to see every one of those sanctimonious pricks on the Council hunted down like animals, their students repurposed beneath the heels of this Sith so that they can flourish as they were meant to."

He pulled her close, pressed his lips against hers, pulling the air from her lungs and holding it within him. He held her there, suspended between life and death as her vision began to gray once more.

When he finally released her, he smiled viciously. "You'll get this after you've killed your first Jedi."

She went limp, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder as she remembered how to breath. "Thank you Master," she hissed, "This worthless slave apprentice wants nothing more than to obey you in this."

"Now dance for me," he ordered, lifting her once more. He set her on her feet, holding her up until she could stand on her own. Then he began pricking her with the Force. "Arms up!" he ordered. "Dance!"

She delved deep into the knowledge she'd taken from Bronus, gracefully lifting her arms and began to move in a pattern as easy to follow a long practiced kata. As her breathing steadied she used the stabbing pains he directed her way as a guide, leaning into them or away. In all her movements the needles in her flesh squirmed and after a moment she waved a hand over the band that held them. Instead of sliding them out of her skin she slid the needles from the fabric, letting the costume drop to the floor.

She was covered with dried and fresh blood below the waist, blood welling up from two dozen small wounds with every bend and twist. She found herself dropping into the place where pain and pleasure were the same, a nearly meditative focus on the dance - on moving in ways that were attractive and as painful, wonderful, as possible.

Through her haze, she could discern one thing: he was using Bronus, but he was watching her. Finally, with a final grunt of release he was finished. He cast Bronus roughly to the floor and threw the debris of clothing on the bed after her, sending it showering down on her sweat-slicked, shivering body, and released Iocina from his grasp.

"Come here, worm."

"Yes Master," she murmured, slipping gracefully to kneel at his feet. She tilted her head up attentively, eyelashes lowered. She felt light, as light as she'd felt the first time she'd groveled at his feet. It was almost terrifying how kneeling made her feel more free than she'd been in her life. She'd wondered how Bronus could seem so content being a slave, terror and risk notwithstanding, but she was beginning to understand.

He waved his flaccid shaft at her. "Clean me. With your tongue. You should know the taste of a man."

She took a shaking breath and leaned forward, locking her hands behind her back. She wasn't permitted to touch, but her desire to do it anyway had to be thwarted so she had to leash herself. She leaned forward and gently lapped the soft flesh with just the tip of her tongue at first, experimentally, before she began to lick and suck in earnest. She'd have been more afraid of this, she knew, if she hadn't already licked his boot clean like an animal already.

Her thoughts tried to wander for a moment, had she come so far in such a short time? How many days ago had she submitted to save her life? She brought herself back to the moment with a little growl, taking her time with the last drips that had slid down one of his thighs. He tasted much like his skin smelled, an indefinable lingering taste on her tongue. Like clean sweat and musk. He also tasted like Bronus and a small shudder went through her, a moan slipping out as she took her mouth from his skin.

"Now express your gratitude," he said. "At my foot. With word and tongue. Bronus..."  
Bronus slipped forward, moving to the other side of Iocina to kiss and lick his foot, murmuring soft imprecations of devotion as she did so.

She lowered herself, running her tongue up the length of his foot and gently kissed the spot where it met his leg, "Master is kind to allow this slave to serve him," she said, "This one is grateful that her Lord has found a purpose for her at his heel."

She could feel a trickle of wetness on the inside of her thighs as she sighed her gratitude into his skin.

He lay back on the bunk. "The two of you will sleep on the floor," he said. "Tomorrow, we arrive at Nar Shaddaa, and life will get interesting."  
He reached up with a hand and flipped the light control with the Force. "It always does..."

She eased herself down on her back. The cabin floor was not cold metal, as it was made for the comfort of the occupant, but the carpet was thin and rough on her skin. She wriggled, and realized she needed to remove the needles or risk infection. She'd have to sterilize them before reintegrating them into the dress, or choose a different sort of pain-toy tomorrow.

She pulled the ones in front and on her sides out slowly with her fingers, and tugged the ones she couldn't reach with the Force. She was glad the carpet, like all the furnishings on this ship, was black and wouldn't be marred by blood.

She fell asleep clutching the pins in her hand, and had uneasy dreams.


End file.
